


Newsieland

by ren_sauce



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (technically?), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Autistic David Jacobs, Autistic Racetrack Higgins, Canon Disabled Character, David Jacobs is a Badass, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Road Trips, Sarah Jacobs is a Badass, Zombieland AU, graphic depictions of injury, it's not THAT graphic but i'm leaving the tag just in case, newsie voice: fuck toifs, one singular die hard reference, sarah has a crossbow and i love her, this is the most domestic zombie apocalypse au ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-06-30 02:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19843894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ren_sauce/pseuds/ren_sauce
Summary: “Freeze, motherfucker!” Jack yelled, whirling around and raising his gun.“Wait!”Jack’s hand stuttered over the forend of the shotgun, the barrel pointed squarely between the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. The boy squeaked, his eyes ruddy with dark circles and tear tracks. Long eyelashes brushed his dirty cheeks, one of them marred with three short scratches. His eyelashes were dark, matching the shaggy curls that brushed over his lids. He swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing dangerously, and Jack felt his throat go dry.“Please.” The boy whispered, voice strained and raspy. “I need your help.”---In a world of zombies and disease, the last thing Jack had planned on was someone like David Jacobs.





	1. Gunpowder Gelatine

**Author's Note:**

> look  
> davey can be a badass if he wants to be okay  
> this is more of a prologue but i hope you guys like it anyways

“Dammit...” Spot muttered as he clambered back into the car they’d hotwired back in Columbus.

“Still no Twinkie?” Crutchie smirked in the backseat.

“I’s _goin’_ to find one.” Spot said, gazing at the horizon with comical determination. “Mark my words, boys.”

“You’s crazy.” Jack muttered, fiddling with the wires of the car and wincing as a rogue spark burned his fingertips. “Where to now?”

“Two hour drive to Indianapolis.” Spot shrugged. “Bet we can make it before sundown.”

“You bet?” Race frowned, hopping into the backseat.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“I’m just sayin’, we ain’t survived this long from bettin’, Spotty.” Race shrugged. “Might be best to stay here for the night, huh, fellas?”

Crutchie frowned. “Since when don’t you bet?”

“I bet on normal things!” Race huffed, chewing irritably on his cigar. “Horses, card games, my dignity, that kinda stuff. I don’t bet on whether or not we’s gonna get eaten by angry zombies. We should leave in the morning.”

“If we leave in the morning, we ain’t stoppin’ in Indianapolis.” Jack huffed, his lips pulling back in a frustrated snarl as he meddled with the tires. “C’mon, ya stupid thing...”

“C’mon, Kelly, I need t’ find my Twinkie!” Spot whined.

“Too fuckin’ bad, I ain’t stoppin’ after two hours to waste time searchin’ for some dumbass candy bar!”

Spot gasped dramatically.

“How. _Dare_. You.” He snarled through gritted teeth.

“Run, Cowboy, run!” Race hissed around giggles. Crutchie snickered with him in the backseat, smothering his mouth with his sleeve.

“Look, we’re wasting time!” Jack snapped. “Show o’ hands – who wants to go to Indianapolis, and who wants to stay put for the night? Hands up for stayin’ put.”

Race rose his hand, Spot and Crutchie both raising their eyebrows at him.

“What?!” He cried indignantly. “C’mon, Crutch, you wanna go?”

“I wanna see the children’s museum!” Crutchie protested. “I gotta see the dinosaurs, man, I _gotta!”_

“Won’t go into a library in case it’s infected, but he’ll go to the fuckin’ children’s museum for the dinos...” Race muttered. “Jack, what about you? You wanna stay!”

“I don’t give a shit as long as everyone shuts up and makes a decision!” Jack snapped as the wires stung his fingers. “Goddammit, this fuckin’ thing won’t-!”

“Fine!” Race huffed, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat. “Let’s go to Indianapolis and get our faces chewed off, I don’t care anymore!”

“Great, ‘cause the damn car’s finally workin’.” Jack said, grinning as the car hummed to life. “Indianapolis, baby!”

Spot whooped in delight, punching the roof of the car.

“Twinkie, here I come!”

oOo

“Okay, let’s go in, look for your fuckin’ candy bar and go.” Jack muttered, gripping his shotgun tightly at his side. “Sun’s settin’, and I ain’t keepin’ Race and Crutchie in the car when zombies are out crawlin’.”

“This is it.” Spot grinned as he crept through the aisles of the supermarket. “I can _feel_ it.”

“Don’t you think I should be going first?” Jack huffed. “I’m the one with the gun.”

“Please.” Spot mumbled. “I can takes any zombie with my bare hands and you knows it.”

Jack rolled his eyes. Spot’s ego could kill any zombie in a five mile radius.

“Confectionary aisle!” Spot grinned, pointing at the sign overhead. “Jackpot!”

Jack grimaced as they scampered through the aisle, Spot rummaging through each shelf with absolutely no care for silence.

“You’s making too much noise...” He muttered warningly, holding his shotgun close to his chest. “They’s gonna hear...”

“If I have to risk your life to find this Twinkie, Jack, that is a sacrifice I’s willing to make.”

“Very reassurin’, Spotty, very reassurin’.” Jack huffed. He jumped when he heard the tell-tale rustle of a chip packet, craning his head around the corner of the aisle. He pricked his ears, and could make out the slow, muffled thuds of footsteps trying not to be heard.

“Hey.” He said quietly, taking a small step around the corner. “I’m gonna check that out real quick, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Spot nodded, not even looking up from his search. Jack rolled his eyes.

“Happy huntin’.”

He padded slowly through the supermarket aisles, his shotgun clutched tightly in his arms. He stuck close to the walls, tilting his head around corners and looking over his shoulder to avoid being taken by surprise by a hungry zombie.

“Come out, ya bastard...” He muttered, poking his gun between the gaps of the shelves. “Come out, come out, wherever you are...”

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a tiny hint of movement.

 _“Freeze, motherfucker!”_ He yelled, whirling around and raising his gun.

“Wait!”

Jack’s hand stuttered over the forend of the shotgun, the barrel pointed squarely between the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. The boy squeaked, his eyes ruddy with dark circles and tear tracks. Long eyelashes brushed his dirty cheeks, one of them marred with three short scratches. His eyelashes were dark, matching the shaggy curls that brushed over his lids. He swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing dangerously, and Jack felt his throat go dry.

 _“Please.”_ The boy whispered, voice strained and raspy. “I need your help.”

Slowly, Jack lowered the barrel.

“It’s my brother.” The boy said pleadingly. “He – he got bit. It’s bad. _Please_ , help us.”

Jack swallowed, glancing over his shoulder at the confectionary aisle.

“Spot!” He hollered. The boy tensed, his hands clenched over his torn button-down. “We got a live one, look alive!”

“Live what?” Spot yelled back, his head poking around the corner of the confectionary aisle. “A Twinkie?”

“Yeah, Spot, a live Twinkie.” Jack huffed. “Hurry the fuck up, wouldja?!”

He turned back to the boy, his chest panging with concern at his hunched shoulders and defensive stance.

“Where’s your brother?”

oOo

Saying it was bad would be an understatement.

Jack winced once he saw the giant gash caved into the boys calf. The skin was mottled and ashy grey, the inside sticky with blood and saliva. He could even see the individual teeth marks, the tiniest glint of bone under the flesh.

_(Blood, bone, tears, “please”, gunshot, gunshot, gunshot-)_

“I am so sorry.” Spot said slowly, his voice bringing Jack back to the present. The boys face crumpled, his older brother making a small, strangled noise as he held him close to his chest.

“I-It’s not so bad.” The boy said hopefully, looking up at them with wide puppy eyes. “We can – W-We can cut off the leg! R-Right? That’s something we can do!”

Jack felt his heart tighten in his chest. The kid was so hopeful, his eyes so bright...

_(Her eyes were dead, filled with tears, already admitting defeat-)_

“It wouldn’t work.” Jack sighed. “He’s too young – if he didn’t bleed out, then he’d just get an infection, or the pain would be too much for him to handle – it ain’t possible.”

“He could be immune.” Spot said quietly.

“Oh, come the fuck on!” Jack growled, rounding on him. “You’s seriously gonna do that to a little kid?!”

“You don’t know!”

“I know there’s a helluva lot of dead people out there, and a helluva lot of dead kids!” Jack snapped, his stomach churning with guilt and regret. “So quit fillin’ his head with false hope when we both know what’s gonna happen. You’s only gonna make this even crueller.”

“It’s cruel either way!” Spot snarled. “He’s a _kid_ , Jack. What am I s’posed to say? ‘Hey, buddy, sorry you’re about to die soon, but while we’s at it, why don’t we just tell ya how Santa doesn’t exist!’ Come _on_ , Jack!”

“It’s not _cruel_ , it’s the only thing we can do.” Jack huffed. “It’s the kindest thing to do, really, putting him outta his-“

“Quit talking about him like he’s not here!” The older boy snapped, his blue eyes narrowed and sharp like shattered glass. “For God’s sake, he’s just a kid!”

“Right!” Jack said quickly. He swallowed, looking at the kids pale face.

Just a kid.

“Ya right.” He said again, slower this time. “We’s sorry.”

The boy sighed, squeezing his little brother’s shoulder.

“It’s not fair.” He said quietly. “It’s just...” His voice caught in his throat. “It’s not _fair.”_

It wasn’t. None of it was.

Spot sighed through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“You know how this goes.” He said slowly. “The parasite’s already in his system. You said he got bit around an hour ago?”

The tall boy nodded mutely.

“It’s probably already reached his brain.” Spot said gravely, looking away from the child on the counter. “He’ll be turnin’ in a matter o’ minutes. It’s a miracle he’s lasted this long.”

“So... So what?” The boy asked. “You’re telling me it’s hopeless?”

“Not entirely.” Jack said quietly. “We have a gun.”

Spot rounded on him in disbelief.

“You are _not_ going to shoot a kid.”

Jack fought the urge to laugh.

“What, you want him to have his brain eaten from the inside out instead?!” He settled for instead. The boy on the counter whimpered, and his older brother shot them a withering glare.

“It’s the kindest thing to do.” Jack said quietly. Spot looked ready to retort, but he took one glance at the kid and deflated.

“It ain’t up to us.” Spot muttered, glancing at the older boy holding his little brother tightly. His face crumpled as the smaller boy looked up at him, eyes wide and sparkling with tears.

“I don’t wanna be a zombie, Davey...” He whispered brokenly, and Jack swore his heart broke for the poor kid.

_(“I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna be like them.”)_

The older brother – Davey –‘s face fell as he clutched him close to his chest, pressing his lips to the boys forehead.

“I’m sorry.” He sobbed into the boys tiny shoulder. “I should’ve been faster-“

“It’s okay.” The boy smiled through his tears. “It’s okay. Just... Just do it. I don’t want to...” His smile fell. “I don’t wanna be like them.”

Jack felt those words like a stab to the chest. He swallowed down the sob bubbling in his throat as best he could with his dry mouth.

Davey whimpered helplessly, smothering his broken sobs with a hand over his mouth.

“Do it.” He whispered, unable to bring himself to look at Spot and Jack in the back of the storage room. “Just... Just do it already.”

Jack sighed, raising his shotgun.

“Take a step back.” He said quietly. “And close your eyes.”

He screwed his eyes shut as the kid looked up at him with eyes already dead and gone. He rose his finger to the trigger.

“Wait.” Davey said before Jack could fire the shot. “Let me.”

Jack’s eyes snapped open.

“I...” He said slowly, glancing at the kid on the counter. “I really don’t think you should-“

“He’s my brother!” Davey cried, tears spilling over his cheeks. “Just... _Please_ , just let me.”

Jack shot Spot a small glance. Spot bit his lip, nodding mutely. Jack sighed and handed Davey the gun.

“Close your eyes.” He said gently as he handed him the shotgun. “And... You’re doing the right thing.”

“I know.” Davey said softly, like if he spoke any louder, he’d break. He took a breath, raising the gun so that his eye was looking over the barrel. The boy’s eyes fell shut, his head tilting to the floor. Davey grit his teeth, his hands clenching over the gun.

Jack and Spot shared a sympathetic glance as Davey’s finger refused to pull the trigger.

“Hey.” He said gently, stepping towards him and touching his shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “You, uh... You need some help?”

“Well...” Davey drawled, and Jack stiffened at the sudden change in his tone. “Now that you mention it...”

Before Jack could react, the butt of the shotgun slammed into his stomach, sending him crumpling to the ground.

“The fuck-!”

Davey slammed the weight of the gun down on Jack’s shoulder, forcing him to land painfully on his knees. He twisted the gun in his hands, pumping it expertly and pointing it between Jack’s eyes.

“Freeze, motherfucker.” He smirked, and holy fuck if Jack were not in a life-or-death situation he’d be so turned on right now.

“Language.” The kid chastised.

“What the hell?!” Spot snarled, taking a few hurried steps forward.

“Hey!” Davey snapped, jabbing the gun to Jack’s forehead. “Arms up! Any sudden moves and I blow your buddy’s brains out!”

“He ain’t my buddy.” Spot muttered, but he rose his hands and didn’t take another step. If Jack didn’t have a gun pointed at his head, he’d almost be touched.

“So here’s how it goes,” Davey smiled. “We’re going to all walk out of this store together. No one’s gonna move too fast, or someone’s gonna get a bullet somewhere they _really_ don’t want one. And then we’re going to take that nice little car you came here in, and we’re going to leave. Try to stop us and, well.” He nudged Jack’s chin upwards with the barrel of the gun. “We’ll watch what happens, won’t we?”

Please don’t, libido, _please_ don’t-

“Les.” Davey barked, nodding his head at Spot.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going!” The kid – Les – huffed as he hopped to his feet. Jack frowned as he walked with ease to where Spot was standing, despite the giant gash digging into his leg. “This thing’s so uncomfortable!” He whined, reaching down to rip the gash off of his leg.

Jack and Spot gaped at the mass of what looked like plastic, double sided tape and make-up.

“Oh my God.” Spot growled. “We were duped by a fuckin’ seven year old.”

“I’m ten!” Les snapped as he pulled a small, sharp dagger from his pocket and pointed it to the point where Spot’s kidney would be. “... Almost.”

“We didn’t come alone.” Jack said quickly. “We got two outside. You’s outnumbered.”

Davey smirked, tapping Jack’s chin with the shotgun _(oh sweet mother-)_

“We’ll see about that.”

oOo

“Thanks for the car, boys!” The girl grinned, blowing the four of them a kiss from where she was perched over the sunroof. Jack clenched his fists, glaring at Race and Crutchie sat on the sidewalk.

“You let her take the car?”

“She was scrappy!” Race protested. “She hopped through the back and we didn’t know was happenin’!”

“She fought fair, though.” Crutchie added. “She didn’t even take my crutch or nothin’, just threw us outta the car and-“

“Yes, thank you, Crutchie!” Race snapped, swatting him over the head.

“I can’t believe this.” He muttered as Davey shot him a fingergun from the driver’s seat. “I cannot _believe_ this.”

“It wasn’t our fault!” Crutchie whined. “We was distracted!”

“By _what,_ the size of her crossbow?!”

“No!” Race snapped. “She was just...”

Spot rose an eyebrow. “Just _what?”_

Race pursed his lips, glancing at the sidewalk.

“... Pretty.”

Spot rose his right hand.

“All in favour of leaving Race on the sidewalk, say aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Bye!” The kid – Les – waved out of the back window as the girl ducked down from the sunroof and the car sped away down the abandoned road.

“For fucks sake!” Jack snapped, kicking a signpost and groaning as pain stung up his foot. The four sighed, milling about the sidewalk.

“Our food was in there.” Race muttered.

“And our weapons.”

“Our med kit.”

Jack sighed, dropping onto the curb.

“What’re we gonna do?”

Crutchie and Race smiled at him as reassuringly as they could, swinging their arms over his back and patting his shoulders.

“Well...” Crutchie said slowly. “We could always go to the children’s museum-“

“Crutchie, I am going to take your crutch and beat you with it.”

oOo

“Jack.”

“Race, I don’t care what you say, we ain’t playing Five Hundred Miles again.”

“But Jack-“

“I mean yeah, it’s a bop, but after the eight hundredth time it’s just so much more annoying than catchy, y’know?”

“But-!”

“Although it is a classic.”

“Jack-“

“Fuck it, we’s playin’ Five Hundred Miles again!”

“Jack, look!” Race cried, grabbing Jack’s chin and yanking it in the direction he was looking at. “You see that?!”

“A Volvo with zombie mush on it?”

“Behind that, moron!” Race snapped. “Our car!”

“What?!” Jack gasped, peering over the Volvo – sweet Jesus, was that a liver? – to the beaten up Land Rover 110 pick-up truck behind it. The same make, the same pea-green paint job, the same cheesy ‘if you’re gonna ride my ass, at least pull my hair!’ bumper sticker that Race had forced them to put on – there was no doubt about it. That was their car.

“What do we do?” Crutchie frowned.

“We take our stuff back, that’s what!” Spot snarled. “Someone grab me my bowie.”

“What good’s a knife gonna do?!” Jack huffed. “We already know they’s got our shotgun and a crossbow, plus the little with the knife!”

Spot scoffed, twirling the bowie knife in his hand.

“I think I can handle some pint-sized kid, Kelly.”

“And as much as we’d love to see you murder a child, Spotty, I don’t think you’ll have to.” Crutchie smiled as he peered at the car. “It’s empty. See?”

“Fuck, it is!” Jack grinned. “Well, what’re we waitin’ for? Race, you’re with me, Crutch and Spot, keep watch in case they come back!”

“Man, I don’t get to loot?” Spot huffed, folding his arms. “Unfair.”

“It ain’t lootin’, it’s takin’ back what they stole from us!” Jack snapped. “Now hold down the fort while we get our shit. C’mon, Racer.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n Jack!” Race grinned, hopping out of the car and sprinting to the truck.

Jack grinned as he jimmied the lock (and by that he meant smashed the window open) and clambered into the car.

“Jackpot.” He smirked, grabbing their food supplies and their med-kit.

“Man, no shotgun.” Race whined. “What’re we gonna do without our ol’ buddy?”

“We can raid plenty of armouries later.” Jack shrugged, stuffing the medical supplies into his backpack. “Get the food – ‘specially those fruit roll-ups, they’s Crutchie’s favourites.”

“Rodger dodger, chief.” Race nodded. “Okay, we’s packed up, let’s go!”

Jack whooped as they leaped out of the car, sprinting to their new van.

“We got our stuff!”

“We got our stuff!”

“Suck it, murder siblings!”

“Suck it straight to hell!”

“The Union strikes again!” Jack cheered as they leaped into the van. “Alright, fellas, we are dinin’ tonight! Hey, Crutchie, pass me the CDs, wouldja? It’s time to party!”

Jack frowned at the lack of response, tapping the CD player.

“Ah, never mind, The Proclaimer’s CD is in here already. You guys want Five Hundred Miles or Sunshine on Leith?”

Still no response. Jack was about to turn when dread settled in his stomach.

“They’s in the backseat, ain’t they?”

He heard the familiar pump of a shotgun.

“Hey there, Cowboy.”

God _dammit._

“Sorry...” Crutchie mumbled. Jack tipped his head back and groaned, turning slowly to look into the backseat. Davey smirked, the shotgun – _Jack’s shotgun! –_ pointed squarely at his chest. The sister sat behind him in the very back of the van, her crossbow aimed at Race, with the little brother Les jabbing a knife to Spot’s throat over the headrest of the backseat.

“What’s your deal?!” He snapped. “How many of our cars is you gonna nab from us?!”

“Depends.” Davey shrugged. “How many of our cars are you gonna steal supplies from?”

“That was our car!” Jack cried. “Those were _our_ supplies, you stole them from _us!”_

“You say stole, we say forcibly borrowed.” Davey smiled. “So.” He said, leaning back in his seat, the shotgun positioned lazily between his legs and _okay, there’s a visual_. “Where are you guys headed?”

Jack blanched in his seat, his head whipping in a double take.

_“What?!”_

“Just making conversation.” Davey shrugged.

“We’re going to Cali!” The sister grinned, and if she weren’t pointing a crossbow at one of Jack’s best friends, he would probably find it charming.

“Yeah?” Spot smirked despite the knife at his neck. “Us too.”

“Spot!”

“What, you want me to sass the people holdin’ us hostage?!” Spot snapped.

“So, you’re going to California?” Davey asked, eyebrows raised in polite curiosity.

“Me and Spotty are.” Race grinned, ignoring Jack’s outraged squawk. “Jack and Crutchie got better dreams than us basic bitches, though.”

“Yeah?” Les smiled brightly. Jack felt his heart melt just a little – even with a knife in his hand, the kid was adorable. Crutchie nodded emphatically.

“We’s headed to Santa Fe after we drop of the boys at California.”

“Crutchie!” Jack cried.

“What, he’s adorable!” Crutchie protested. “They’s a whole family o’ cuties!”

“Aww!” The sister preened. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?”

Crutchie smiled brightly. “Thanks!”

“Charlie James Morris, I swear to God-!”

“So, Santa Fe?” Davey asked, raising an eyebrow. “What, zombies aren’t enough, you want tarantulas, too?”

“Yeah, that whole ‘go west, young man!’ routine is kind of old.” The sister shrugged.

“Oh, and the threatening people at _gunpoint_ thing ain’t?!” Jack snapped. The sister giggled airily, raising one hand in defence.

“No need to be testy!” She smiled. “C’mon, if we’re gonna travel together, we’ll have to get along!”

“Whoa, _whoa_.” Jack scoffed. “Sorry, what’s this about travellin’ together?”

“We’re cutting you a deal, Cowboy.” Davey muttered, scraping some dirt off the shotgun. “Y’know how hard it is to travel in a small group with a little kid?”

“Hey!” Les snapped.

“We’s travellin’ in a small group with a disabled kid.” Crutchie smiled, raising his hand. “Does that count for anythin’?”

“Exactly.” Davey nodded. “It’s difficult. There’s strength in numbers, and we’re all going to the same place.” He shot Jack a withering side-eye. “I mean, most of us.”

“Go to hell.” Jack growled. “If you wanted our help, you shoulda thought twice before robbin’ us.”

“That was different!” Davey snapped. “We were hungry, we didn’t have any shelter, we were _desperate!_ Look, we’re heading to the same place, we’re gonna cross paths anyways, and we’ve already gotten the jump on you guys every time we’ve met. What do you think’s gonna happen the next time you guys run into us?”

Jack narrowed his eyes, meeting Davey’s shattered glass glare.

“There ain’t a person in this car who don’t know you stink.” He snarled low in his throat.

“Actually...” Race rose his hand. “I don’t think it’s a terrible idea.”

“What?!”

“Well, come on, Jack!” Race huffed, gesturing at the murder trio in the back. “We already know they’s smart and scrappy-like! If we run into zombies or looters or whatever, I’d rather have ‘em on our side than goin’ against ‘em!”

“No.” Jack said firmly. “No _way-“_

“I’m in.” Spot shrugged, raising his hand up and ignoring Jack’s indignant scream. “I mean, we’s headin’ to the same place anyways, better just stick with ‘em rather than get duped again.”

“Then I guess we’s tied, then.” Jack huffed, folding his arms. “Two to two.”

“Actually...” Crutchie mumbled, raising his own hand. “Three to one.”

Jack’s face fell slack.

_“No.”_

“We’s already at a disadvantage.” Crutchie said quietly, gesturing to his leg. “At least this way we’ve got a little more protection. I’m sorry, Jack, I just think it’s a better idea than runnin’ the risk of goin’ alone.”

“Traitors.” Jack hissed through his teeth. “Damn traitors, the lot o’ ya!”

“The ‘Union’ seems to have spoken.” Davey smirked, air quoting the nickname. Jack grit his teeth, cursing his big mouth and Race’s stupid nickname for their group. “I guess you’re either in...” He nodded outside the window at the deserted ghost town of Kansas City, dotted with blood and guts and zombie bits. “Or out.”

Jack groaned, slamming his fist onto the steering wheel.

“I. Hate. _Everything.”_

“That means yes.” Race smiled. “Mind if someone switches with me? I’d like to make sure my travel buddy doesn’t get stabbed.”

“Fine by me.” Davey shrugged. “Les, put that thing away, please?”

The kid sheathed his knife, patting Spot’s shoulder reassuringly. The sister smiled, setting down her crossbow and shooting Race a quick smile.

“No hard feelings?”

“Ah, I’m threatened with murder pretty much all the time.” Race shrugged. “No biggie.”

“C’mon, I’ll hop in front.” Davey smiled as Race clambered into the back of the van. “Probably best to have someone keeping an eye on the cowboy, huh?”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!” Jack snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “You’s stayin’ in the back with your little trickster family! Crutchie, you get in front with me!”

“Aw, man, do I gotta?” Crutchie huffed. “My leg’s actin’ up!”

“That’s whatcha get for runnin’ around the children’s museum...” Race muttered. “Coulda stayed put and not run into these guys at all, but _no,_ no one listens to Racer!”

“Not the time, Higgins.” Spot muttered, nodding at the two boys engaged in what appeared to be a very intense staring contest.

“You seriously expect me to not want to keep an eye on you after you’ve been so adamant about having us travel with you?” Davey snorted. “Yeah, no. I’m getting in front and you can’t stop me.”

“Yeah, why don’tcha try, pretty boy?” Jack snarled. Davey smiled, swinging gracefully into the front seat. Jack blinked.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Davey smirked. “But thanks for calling me pretty.”

Jack made a strangled groaning noise in the back of his throat, banging his fists against the steering wheel.

“Easy, Yosemite Jack.” Davey scoffed. He smiled, waggling his gun temptingly. “Look, if I give you back your little toy, will you let me ride shotgun?”

The sister snorted in the backseat.

“Ha! Shotgun.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice that!” Davey laughed. “Good one, Sarah.”

“Whatever.” Jack growled, ignoring the way his stomach flipped at Davey’s little ‘aha!’ laugh. “Look, if you’s gonna ride with us, I want proof you ain’t gonna backstab us again.”

“Yeah?” Davey rose an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Jack smirked, spitting into his palm and holding it in front of him.

“Shake on it.”

Davey grimaced at his slicked palm.

“That’s disgusting!”

“No, that’s business.” Jack smiled sweetly. “Shake, twinkie.”

Spot perked up in the backseat.

“Not that kind of twinkie, Spot!”

Davey folded his arms as Spot deflated, leaning against Race’s shoulder pitifully.

“I’m not touching that.”

“C’mon, Dave!” The sister – Sarah – huffed. “We’ve been screwing them over a ton lately, we may as well give them one thing back.”

“Thank you!” Jack barked, shooting her a quick grin. “At least there’s one nice one in the family!”

“I’m nice!” Les whined.

“Of course you are, kiddo!” Jack smiled reassuringly. “I don’t blame ya for bein’ a little shit!” He turned to smirk at Davey. “You was just influenced is all.”

“I hate you.” Davey growled, spitting into his palm and gagging as he slid their hands together. Jack ignored the little voice in the back of his mind telling him their hands were a perfect fit.

“There.” Jack grinned. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Davey fixed him with a flat glare.

“I’m beginning to regret this.”

“Too late.” Jack smirked. “Let’s hit the road, boys.”

Sarah coughed.

“And girl.” Jack added.

“Thank you.”

Davey huffed, reaching for the radio.

“Ah-ah!” Jack snapped, slapping his hand away. “You stole our shit and held us hostage, _we_ pick the music! Now...” He tapped the play button on the CD player and grinned as the beginning beats of Five Hundred Miles began to play.

Davey frowned at the player before shooting a questioning glance at Jack.

“I hate this song.”

“Give it time.”

oOo

“’Cause I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more!” Crutchie, Race, Sarah and Les belted, Spot stubbornly refusing to join in on the song. “Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door!”

Jack grinned, slapping the wheel to the rhythm of the song as they yelled the ‘da-da-la-da’s. He took a special kind of delight in watching Davey press his head against the window in defeat.

“Welcome to the party, pal!” He yelled over the stereo as Davey groaned quietly, clutching his temples. Davey shot him a withering glare.

“I _hate_ you.”

“Feelin’s mutual, bud!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr is [ren-sauce](https://ren-sauce.tumblr.com/)


	2. Dynamite With a Laserbeam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you ever shot a zombie before?"
> 
> “... Three.”
> 
> “Three?”
> 
> “I kept count.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's barely even been a week yet but i wanted to post this so badddd

It’s only natural for questions to come up.

“So how’d this little apocalypse boyband start, anyways?” Sarah hummed as she sat in shotgun, Race at the wheel with an unlit cigar in his mouth (“It’s a _metaphor-“_ “Say that again and I’m gonna burn your copy o’ The Fault In Our Stars!”).

“We ain’t a _boyband,_ we’s a _union_.” Jack muttered. Davey scoffed beside him, the two of them having been stuffed in the back of the van as punishment for their bickering.

“Because a _union_ is so much cooler?”

“I swear to god-“

“We all met in highschool.” Crutchie smiled, looking up from his and Les’ game of rock-paper-anything (they’d come up with random hand gestures like ‘Yoda’ or ‘swordfish’ and try to justify why they would win – it was a whole thing). “We worked on the school newspaper together.”

“Is that why you call yourselves a union?” Davey asked, because if there was one thing Jack had learned after being shoved in a van with this guy for over twelve hours, it was that he could never keep his mouth shut for more than twenty seconds. “Like, the Newsboy Union? Strike of 1899?”

“Ding ding ding!” Race grinned. “You’s the first person outside o’ us to get that, actually!”

Jack frowned, looking at Davey quizzically.

“Davey’s obsessed with all these historical revolutions.” Sarah explained, rolling her eyes. “It’s his _thing_.”

“It’s annoying.” Les muttered. “You didn’t have to share a room with him for nine years! He was always on his laptop googling Marsha P. Johnson and stuff like that.”

“That woman was an LGBT _legend_ and I will not let her memory be erased!” Davey snapped with no real bite. “TERFs can fight me.”

“Hey, we finally agree on somethin’.” Jack smirked. “Fuck TERFs.”

“Oh my God.” Davey snickered. “Is that how you pronounce TERFs? Fuck _toifs?”_

Jack felt his face flush with embarrassment.

“Shut up!” He snapped. “Not all of us can talk all stupid and fancy like you!”

“Oh – no!” Davey said quickly, shooting him a quick smile. “I wasn’t trying to be mean – it’s cute.”

Jack blinked rapidly, wondering if he’d misheard.

Cute.

_Cute._

... Interesting.

“So anyways.” Crutchie continued, pulling Davey’s attention away from Jack’s awkward blush (Jack would thank him for that later). “After graduation, we all drifted apart – me and Jack were doin’ our thing, I guess Race and Spot were doin’ theirs. But then the, uh-“ He cleared his throat. “Outbreak happened, and, well – New York ain’t exactly a pretty place most o’ the time. Imagine how it is filled with creepy zombies?”

He tried for a laugh. It didn’t work.

“Me and Racer were in Brooklyn.” Spot picked up once he noticed Crutchie begin to fumble. “I, uh, had some people I was travellin’ with, but we kinda split apart.”

The way Jack remembered it, it was JoJo’s face that had split apart. And then JoJo’s split face had clamped around Hotshot’s leg, and then Hotshot bit Myron right on the neck, and then Myron practically savaged Graves – ashes to ashes, they all fell down. By that point, Spot was the only one left of the Brooklyn boys, alone, fleeing from the people who’d looked out for him his entire life.

But, well. That wasn’t his story to tell.

“Spotty and me go way back.” Race grinned around his cigar. “We was best pals, friends til the end!”

“We were partnered for an English project once and Race decided that meant we was destined to be buddies.” Spot muttered, but Jack could see the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “So we meet up at this supermarket, we decide to stick together. Then we ran into these idiots bein’ chased outta a pharmacy by a buncha zombies-“

“We needed meds! They weren’t usin’ ‘em!”

“And you can imagine our surprise at havin’ a little highschool reunion while shootin’ up zombies.” Spot smirked at the memory. “Good times.”

“Wait – you guys lived in New York?” Davey frowned.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Wow!” Sarah gasped in delight. “We must’ve just missed you! We lived in Lower Manhattan.”

“So did me and Jack!” Crutchie grinned. “Duane Street!”

“Seriously?!” Davey gaped. “We were so close!”

“Maybe we would’ve ran into each other earlier if _someone_ wasn’t so paranoid about leaving the apartment.” Sarah scoffed. Davey faltered, shooting her a look.

“You know,” He said slowly. “Why we couldn’t leave.”

Sarah shifted in her seat, avoiding his gaze in the rear-view mirror.

“Just trying to make a joke.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“Oh, look, a Krispy Kreme!” Race yelled, his foghorn voice smashing through the tension before it could settle. “Who wants donuts?”

Les squealed in the backseat. “I do!”

“Alrighty, then!” Race grinned, pulling into the drive. “C’mon, Spotty, let’s make a donut run. Orders?”

“I’ll take some pink one, if they have them.” Sarah smiled politely. “Otherwise, I’ll just take anything.”

Les rose his hand. “Can I have chocolate?”

Davey shot him a look. He sighed dramatically.

_“Please?”_

“’Course, kid!” Race grinned, wiggling the lip of his cap. “What about you, Crutchie?”

“I’ll take chocolate, too, if they got it.”

“Jack, Davey?”

“Glazed, thanks.” The two said in synchrony. They jumped, looking at each other with wide eyes.

“Aww, you even finish each other’s sentences.” Spot crooned. “Ain’t that sweet?”

Davey bristled, gritting his teeth.

“Just get the donuts.”

“Couple o’ Sharer Dozens and a pack o’ glazed, comin’ right up.” Race grinned. Spot nodded, about to slam the car door behind him and Race when he peered through the window of the shop.

“Zombie cashier, ten o’clock.” He muttered. “Whaddya reckon he don’t want customers right now?” He snapped his fingers idly. “Hey Jack, hand me the gun, will ya?”

Jack rolled his eyes at the order, wordlessly handing him the gun.

“Spot.” Race said quietly. Spot patted his shoulder in answer before nodding at the alley behind the store.

“Why don’tcha go scope out the rest o’ the place, huh, Racer?” He asked. “Make sure we don’t got anymore company. Sarah, bring the car around, yeah?”

Sarah nodded mutely as she slid into the driver’s seat. Race glanced at the zombie cashier in the window before sprinting to the back alley.

“Why’d he want us to bring the car around?” Les frowned as Sarah drove the car further down the road, out of sight of the window. “Wouldn’t it be better if we were near the door?”

Davey opened his mouth to reply, but the words died on his tongue as the echo of a gunshot rang through the street. Jack bit his lip as realization dawned on Les’ face. Sarah and Davey slowly deflated in their seats, leaning heavily against the walls of the car.

“Hey, kid.” Crutchie smiled as best he could. “Wanna play rock-paper-anything? I got a good one!”

“Oh.” Les said quietly, his eyes lost for a moment until he blinked himself back to reality. “O-Oh, yeah! Yeah, let’s play...”

Wordlessly, Jack slid his thigh carefully across the floor of the van to nudge against Davey’s. Davey tensed ever so slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes. Jack kept his gaze on the floor, but he could make out the tiny smile on Davey’s lips from the corner of his eye. They stayed there, sat in the back of the van, attached by a single spot of warmth.

_I’m here_.

It wasn’t quite comfort. It wasn’t a way of saying ‘hey, everything’s going to be okay’. It was just... Reassurance. They were here, all of them, feeling what they were all feeling, experiencing what they were all experiencing.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough, and that was what counted.

oOo

“What about you guys?” Jack asked after a solid twenty minutes of nothing but silence, the sound of wheels turning and people munching on donuts. “How did your whole group begin?”

Davey rose an eyebrow.

“Well, we’re related...” He said slowly. “So... Kind of a ‘womb to the tomb’ kind of thing...”

“I know _that!”_ Jack huffed, reaching over Crutchie to shove his head. “I mean your whole origin thing! Why’d you leave New York and stuff?”

Davey stilled, stiffening in his seat. Jack could make out Sarah wincing in the rear-view mirror.

“Just, y’know.” He muttered. “Outbreak and stuff. Kinda had to leave. Better to be on the road than in a city overflowing with zombies and looters.”

Jack frowned at the way Davey refused to meet his eyes, the way he reached up to pull Les’ baseball cap down over his ears as the boy slept in Davey’s lap.

“So that’s it?” Jack asked sceptically. “That’s the whole story?”

“Yeah.” Davey said quickly, clearing his throat. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s our origin story.”

Jack jutted his chin in a half-nod before reclining back in his seat, tipping his hat over his face to cover his eyes as he allowed himself to drift off. There was no need to press any further.

They both knew Davey was lying.

oOo

“So why’re you heading to California?” Sarah asked as Spot and Race bickered over the CD player.

“I got a lot of siblings.” Race smiled. “My sister set up shop in LA, so I figured I’d go hit her up. Plus the city’s pretty widely spread, so it’s a lot safer than New York.”

“And Spot?”

“Nowhere for me in New York.” Spot shrugged. “After I met up with Race and we started travellin’ together, we just figured I’d go with him.”

“What about you three?” Crutchie asked from the backseat where he was crammed between Sarah and Jack, with Les taking up space on Jack’s lap. Jack had no idea why, but for some reason, the kid seemed to have taken to him. Davey had retreated to the bed of the truck they’d hotwired to read a copy of Pet Semetary Jack had nabbed for him from a library in Colby.

(“Not a big deal or anythin’.” He’d muttered when Davey had looked up at him with _that face_ , eyes wide and lips parted, damn him. “Just knew you were into that nerdy shit is all.”

“Thanks.” Davey said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. Jack felt his stomach flip at the sincerity in his eyes. “Seriously. Thank you.”

“I...” Jack mumbled, his cheeks tinting pink. “Shut up!”)

“Oh, we always just wanted to head to California.” Sarah giggled. “Well – I did. Les wanted to go to Disneyland, but we figured that’d be too dangerous, so we’re going to check out the beaches in Cali and see if they’re still nice with dead zombie bits scattered all over them.”

Jack nodded mutely, stroking Les’ hair idly as he drifted off. No one could say their reasoning wasn’t fair – when everyone around you was dead, murderous or going insane, it made sense to start ticking off the bucket list.

“So now we’re heading to California.” Sarah continued, drumming her fingers on her knees. “And if that doesn’t work out-“

“Then we’re heading to Canada.” Davey said as he crawled through the shattered back window of the truck. “Finished my book, by the way.”

“What?” Crutchie frowned. “You just got it yesterday!”

“It’s only around five hundred pages.” Davey shrugged as he clambered into the back of the truck, grabbing his threadbare hoodie and draping it over himself like a blanket as he settled in the corner. Crutchie gaped at him with wide eyes.

“How are you alive?”

“He’s clearly a zombie.” Jack shrugged, a little disappointed that the book he’d swiped had only lasted Davey a day. He’d have to consider that next time. Or – wait, no, not next time, there would be no next time. Just... Something to consider, should he ever find a book that would just go to waste if some nerd like Davey didn’t read it. “I say we shoot him.”

Davey sighed, rubbing his temples.

“I know it’s the apocalypse, but please don’t encourage gun violence in front of the _child_.”

“I’m not a child!” Les huffed.

“Ah, c’mon, Dave!” Jack scoffed. “I know our gun laws are horrifyin’ but hey, we wouldn’ta lasted this long if it weren’t for America’s shitty gun control.”

“Fair.” Davey sighed, snuggling into his hoodie. Jack gulped, whipping around to face the front of the car. Crutchie shot him a smirk, and Jack punched him in his good leg.

“Do me a favour?” Davey mumbled sleepily. “Wake me up when we get to Denver.”

“Sure thing, Davey!” Sarah smiled sweetly as Davey began to drift off in the back of the truck. “He gets sleepy when he reads for a while.” She explained as the other boys frowned at him napping in the back. “It’s like his brain goes into overdrive and he needs to recharge it.”

“Hey, Racer got like that when he was studyin’ his physics stuff for engineerin’.” Spot chuckled, punching Race’s arm affectionately as he drove. “He’d do a bunch o’ equations and then his brain’d turn to jello.”

“Do you have Asperger’s, too?” Sarah grinned, perking up in her seat. Race opened his mouth, probably to tell her no, before pausing and frowning to himself.

“Shit, do I?” Race mumbled, more to himself than the others. “Spotty, do I have ice-burgers?”

“Asperger’s, moron.” Spot scoffed. “And I dunno, maybe. What else does Davey do that’s an Asperger’s thing?”

“Y’know, regular stuff.” Sarah shrugged. “It’s not that obvious unless someone points it out to you. He has trouble expressing himself, sometimes. He’s not too good with social cues and interactions and stuff.”

“Really?” Jack scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Never noticed.”

“Don’t be a jerk.” Sarah said sharply, shooting him a withering look.

“I wasn’t.” Jack said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “Wasn’t tryin’ to, ‘m sorry.”

“Good.” Sarah said curtly. “You should be.”

“Um.” Crutchie frowned. “Is Davey okay with you tellin’ us this?”

“He doesn’t really care.” Sarah shrugged. “I wouldn’t be saying anything if he did. It’s just... A thing. Y’know? It’s not like he’s hiding it, it’s just who he is.”

“Okay, yeah, I gotta talk to Dave ‘bout this when he wakes up.” Race frowned, tapping his chin in thought. “Jesus, I just thought I was charmin’!”

“You are charmin’.” Spot said offhandedly, seemingly ignorant to Race’s small surprised sound. “You just might be this – Asper-whatever thingy as well.”

“Asperger’s Syndrome.” Sarah corrected.

“That.”

“Damn.” Race frowned. “You think y’know yourself.”

“Oh, I _know!”_ Crutchie gasped dramatically, gesturing to his busted leg. “Imagine my surprise when I sees this thing! All this time, I just thought my crutch was a little wooden sword!”

“Ha, ha, hilarious.” Race scoffed, reaching back to swat at Crutchie’s face. “’Ey, Jack, whadda you think? You thinks I got this Asperger’s thingy?”

“I thinks you look fine.” Jack muttered offhandedly.

Race frowned.

“What’s up with him?”

“Davey yawned.” Crutchie explained, nodding to the back of the truck where Davey was curled up with his hoodie tugged up so it was just brushing his nose.

“What?!” Jack yelped, whipping around to face the front again. “Wh- No! I was just – I just wanted to make sure he-“

“No, no, it’s fine, you was bein’ gay.” Race shrugged. “Nothin’ wrong with that. As you were.”

“I _wasn’t-!”_

“As much as I’d love to know whether Jack is or is not lusting for my brother,” Sarah smiled thinly. “Can we instead focus on the two zombies in the middle of the road running towards the car?”

_“Shit!”_ Spot hissed. “Jack, shotgun!”

“On it!”

oOo

“Why do you keep getting my brother books?”

Shit. Busted.

“I, uh...” Jack mumbled, stuffing a copy of George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ into his bag. “Well, y’know – not much entertainment in a car full o’ people. May as well keep one person from dyin’ o’ boredom.”

Sarah rose an eyebrow as she carefully examined some bottles of water before tossing them into her pack.

“What?” Jack frowned at her silence. “What’s with the face?”

“I just think it’s interesting.” Sarah shrugged. “How you act like this is just a casual thing you do, yet whenever we go looting, you make sure to get him a book.”

“Look, Davey likes books. We got kind of a surplus out here, and no one to read ‘em, so if I happen to see a book, I give it to Davey. It’d just go to waste otherwise.” Jack said sharply. “Ain’t nothin’ more to it than that.”

Exactly. Nothing more to it. Not the way Davey’s eyes brightened whenever Jack handed him a new book, not the way he smiled brightly and thanked him more times than Jack could count, and definitely not the way he looked at him like Jack had just given him the stars in the sky.

Nope. Definitely not.

“Whatever.” Sarah shrugged. “I just think it’s funny that we’re actually trying to loot a _bookstore_ for food just so you can try to woo my brother.”

Jack flushed indignantly. Okay, maybe his little gift-giving habit was getting a tiny bit out of control, especially if it was going to affect their looting locations. He’d have to start restraining himself when it came to Davey and books.

“I ain’t wooin’ anyone.” He muttered, like a liar.

“Jackpot!” Davey grinned as he pranced out of the back office. Jack fought a scoff. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. “Found a pistol and some ammo in the back.”

“In the back of a bookstore?” Sarah frowned. “Man, this country sucks.”

“Yep, but at least it’ll keep zombies away.” Davey shrugged. “What’d you guys find?”

“Well, Jack found another book for you.” Sarah smiled sweetly, patting Jack’s shoulder.

“I hate you.” He hissed under his breath.

“No, you don’t.” She whispered back before properly raising her voice. “I’m gonna see if the bathrooms here are still functional. Bye!”

“Have fun.” Davey waved as she flounced to the doors at the back of the shop. He turned back to Jack with a wry smile. “You’ve really gotta stop getting me so many books.” He chuckled. “I’m running outta space in my bag.”

Jack frowned, cocking his head.

“Don’tcha just throw ‘em out once ya done with ‘em?”

“What? No!” Davey gasped, looking almost offended that Jack had even suggested such a thing. “They’re gifts!”

Jack was too touched by the genuine affection in Davey’s voice that he forgot to correct him about the whole ‘gifts’ thing.

“So, what’d you get me?” Davey smiled, peering at the book in his hand. Jack handed him the book, rocking on his heels as Davey glanced at the cover. If he quietly prayed in the back of his head that Davey would like it, well – who was to say?

“Oh my God, Animal Farm!” He grinned, flipping through the pages so fast Jack was certain he was going to rip them. Still, he couldn’t help but smile at Davey’s excitement. “This is like, my favourite book _ever,_ how’d you know?”

Jack swallowed heavily, almost unable to rip his eyes away from Davey’s smile. Jack had always thought of smiles as just a curve of someone’s lips, nothing more to it. It was different with Davey. He put his whole body into it – he leaned upwards on tip toes ever so slightly and squeezed his hands into fists, his chest puffing up and his eyes sparkling like every single drop of his happiness was just one smidge away from pouring out of him. It was... _Distracting_. Too distracting. Something Jack really couldn’t afford to be distracted by.

“Well, y’know,” Jack muttered, fighting his blush. “Anythin’ to keep ya from runnin’ ya mouth in the car.”

Davey’s smile soured into a glare.

“Fuck you.” Davey huffed. “Are you ever going to stop being a dick to me?”

“Excuse me?!” Jack snapped, a familiar plume of rage beginning to flicker in his chest. “You threaten us at gunpoint and I’m supposed to just forgive that?!”

“That was over two weeks ago!”

“Oh, well then clearly that makes it all okay!” Jack scoffed, the flicker soon developing into a roaring flame. “This isn’t exactly a time-based thing, _Dave,_ you held a gun to my head!”

“It’s the fucking apocalypse, Jack, that’s practically the equivalent of not tipping your waiter!” Davey snapped. “And if this is going to bother you so much, then take your goddamn book back, I don’t want it!”

_Shit._

“No – wait!” Jack said quickly before Davey could toss the book back at him. “Don’t – don’t give me back the book, it... It’s a gift, right?”

Davey blinked, opening and closing his mouth as he searched desperately for the right words.

“You’re...” He started, his voice faltering in his throat. “Confusing.”

Jack sighed, scuffing the floor with his foot. Because he was right, really. He was confusing. To Davey, to himself. He didn’t even get why he was being like this. Because he didn’t like Davey. Or – well, maybe he did. He liked the way Davey had a comeback for everything, the way he could shut someone up with just a look, the way he was so fiercely protective over his family... He liked Davey. He just... Didn’t want Davey to know that. But he also didn’t want Davey to not like him and – oh, God...

It was complicated.

“I know.” Jack muttered. “Just - Please keep the book?”

Davey blanched, glancing from the cover to Jack suspiciously. He sighed and shoved the book into his bag. Jack took that as a small victory, but he wasn’t sure what exactly it was a victory for.

“We’re not going to keep doing this if you can’t forgive me.” He said quietly, not meeting Jack’s gaze. “If you want an apology, then fine. I’m sorry. We had just left home, we were scared, we were desperate, we didn’t know how to hotwire a car and we were too scared to loot anywhere in case of zombies. We saw you guys passing through, we followed you, and we decided to do what was best for _us_. Our family.”

Jack rose an eyebrow.

“So why’d you give it all back?”

Davey’s head jerked upwards.

“Yeah, surprise surprise, I ain’t an idiot.” Jack muttered. “I know someone as smart as you wouldn’t just leave your supplies unattended.”

Davey gnawed his lip, the flesh coming away pink and shiny. Jack had to physically restrain himself from staring too hard.

It was very, very complicated.

“When you helped us at that supermarket,” Davey began, his voice quiet and tentative. “You – you and Spot, I mean – you were nice. And, like, of course we already knew that – we’d been following you for about two days, we knew you’d have to be somewhat decent people for the scam to work.”

(Jack cursed himself internally. How could he not have known someone was following them for _two days?!)_

“But then...” Davey mumbled. “You were, like – genuinely nice. You wanted to do what was best for me and Les – you didn’t even know us but you were still trying your best to consider our feelings. Anyone else would’ve just made the call to shoot him straight away, but you guys...” He swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing dangerously. “You guys actually cared, even though you didn’t know us.” He shook his head. “I dunno, maybe it’s just that everyone was dead and you were the first nice people we met, but... It meant something. So, we came back. And we made the deal. But I’m not going to keep it if you’re going to hate me for the whole time.”

Jack blinked once, twice, swallowing hard to moisten his dry throat. Every time he wanted to force himself to not like Davey, the son of a bitch had to make everything difficult. How was he supposed to try and hate him now? When he knew Davey had put so much faith in them in the five minute interaction they’d had? When he knew Davey had decided to trust them, simply because he could just – _feel_ that they were good people? Maybe Davey was right, maybe it was some kind of weird reverse Stockholm Syndrome thing and Davey had just wanted to trust them simply because there was no one else left, but still... It made Jack want to trust him, too.

“Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?” He asked quietly after a moment of silence. Davey groaned, throwing his arms up exasperatedly.

“See?!” He huffed. “If you’re just going to snipe at me, even when I’m _trying_ to make up with you-“

_“Whoa!”_ Jack snapped, raising his hands. “It’s a fucking _joke!_ That was supposed to be my way of saying we’re cool, but if you can’t even see _that_ , then I guess we ain’t!”

Davey stilled, the tips of his ears turning red as he looked away.

“Oh.” He mumbled. Jack blinked at his sudden change in tone. “I-I, um... I’m not really good with jokes...”

And fuck if that didn’t make Jack feel like that the biggest dick that was left in this godforsaken planet. Because he knew Davey had trouble with that stuff, and he knew exactly _why_ he had trouble with it. Hell, Sarah had explained it to them all upfront. And he’d still decided to be a giant dickwad and snap at a guy simply for not understanding a joke.

“I didn’t mean to hurt ya feelin’s.” Jack muttered, looking away. “I just joke around with everyone is all. I mean, ain’tcha ever had friends before?”

For the first time since the two had met, Davey actually didn’t speak.

“... Oh.” Jack said quietly off of Davey’s resigned silence.

Yep. He was an asshole.

“I don’t mean to be uptight.” Davey mumbled. “Or a dick, or whatever. I just... I dunno, I just always thought you were making fun of me.”

“No, I was.” Jack said before immediately cursing himself for being such a colossal moron. “I mean – half the time. The rest was just jokes.”

Davey’s lip twitched into a small smile.

“Guess we both have some stuff we need to work on.”

“Guess we do.” Jack nodded.

Davey held out his hand awkwardly.

“I will if you will?”

Jack grinned, spitting into his palm. He paused when he noticed Davey’s grimace.

“Right.” He laughed bashfully, wiping his hand on his shirt. “Sorry...”

“Just shake, loser.” Davey snorted, clasping their (thankfully dry) hands together. “So we understand each other, then?”

“Loud and clear.” Jack nodded. “I’ll try bein’ less of an asshole, you try bein’ less uptight.”

“Yes, that is exactly how I phrased it.” Davey scoffed, rolling his eyes. Jack huffed, though it was clear he wasn’t really offended, and ruffled Davey’s hair, making him squawk and swat him away.

“So are ya gonna take the book, then?” Jack asked tentatively.

“Well, I suppose I have to.” Davey said offhandedly, though Jack noticed the smile tugging at his lips “It’ll be like a peace offering.”

“Right.” Jack snorted. “A peace offerin’.”

“I do appreciate it, though.” Davey smiled, a proper smile this time. “It really is one of my favourites. Since I was a kid, actually.

“Ah, no big deal.” Jack mumbled, avoiding his gaze so he wouldn’t have to look at Davey’s full-bodied sparkly smile. “So, what’s it about, anyways?” He asked, stepping to Davey’s side so he could take a look at the cover. He hadn’t really expected a book called ‘Animal Farm’ to be one of Davey’s favourites. From the title, it seemed like some cute little kids story about, like, horses and stuff. Even so, he was kind of intrigued about Davey’s taste in books – it’d probably help him when he was looking for other books Davey might enjoy.

“It’s a metaphor for the rise of Stalinism in late 1920s Russia.” Davey said offhandedly as he scanned the blurb.

“Jesus Christ, what kind of a kid where you?!” Jack cried. Davey smirked, swatting his nose with the book.

“A smart one.”

Jack was just opening his mouth for a comeback when a loud flushing noise startled them. Sarah skipped out of the bathroom door, smiling brightly.

“Bathrooms work! Go get the guys, tell them we can have a rest stop here.”

Davey wrinkled his nose.

“Did you wash your hands?”

“Fine, _mom!”_ Sarah huffed, rolling her eyes as she went back into the bathrooms.

“Why is my entirely family disgusting?” Davey sighed. “Even Les is spit-shaking now because of you!”

“Everyone’s a little gross, Davey, just takes the right person to bring it out.” Jack grinned, ruffling Davey’s hair.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to uphold my role as the black sheep and continue to be the token hygienic friend in the group.” Davey smirked, swatting his hand away. “I’m gonna get the guys. You keep watch, make sure no zombies are milling around.”

“Rodger dodger, chief.” Jack nodded, giving him a mock salute. Davey scoffed, shaking his head as he strode to the door.

“Oh – by the way?” He asked before he left the shop.

“Hm?” Jack hummed, looking up from the chip packets he was busy stuffing into his bag.

“Thanks, Jackie.” Davey smiled softly, holding up his book. “It means a lot.”

The soft tone and even softer nickname left Jack breathless. He deflated as Davey left the store and slumped against the bookshelves, whining pitifully.

A kind, if slightly moist hand patted his head gently.

“Poor baby gay.” Sarah smiled sympathetically. “You are so whipped.”

“Shut up.” Jack sighed, getting to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go to the car.”

“Sure.” Sarah nodded. “Oh! One second.”

Jack frowned, watching curiously as she grabbed a copy of ‘The New Century’ from the middle shelf.

“What?” Sarah huffed defensively. “Katherine Plumber is a _genius_.”

Jack scoffed.

“Fangirl.”

“Coward.”

“Twitter stan.”

“Whipped.”

“Hah, you already used that one! I win!”

“God dammit!”

oOo

“Have you ever shot a zombie before?”

Jack’s head jerked up to look at Davey from where they were sat on top of the truck. Spot and Race had called dibs on the front seats, and they always left the backseat for Crutchie and Les, both so Crutchie could rest his bad leg and so that they had that extra bit of protection. Jack, Davey and Sarah had resigned to the bed of the truck, but Sarah had immediately fallen asleep and started jerking around and kicking the two of them, so they’d retreated to the top of the truck for both comfort’s sake and the sake of their well-being.

“Where’d that come from?” He frowned, eyeing him suspiciously. Davey pointed past the gates of the park they’d set up camp in, where a grizzled and bloodied zombie was chewing into the rotting corpse of a lifeless, glass-eyed pedestrian. The body was old, but he could see she was wearing a pair of mostly in-tact leggings and a shredded tank top, her earphones tangled around her neck like a noose. She must’ve been running when her town got infected.

“Okay.” He said quietly. If Davey noticed the hitch in his voice, he didn’t mention it. “What about it?”

“Just look at it.” Davey mumbled. “It’s desperate. Totally lost to the world. All it knows is how to eat and how to kill.”

“Yeah, what of it?”

Davey sighed, leaning back on the roof to stare at the stars above them.

“Dying’s one thing.” He said quietly, almost a whisper. “But then there’s dying and having your brain taken over by crazed parasites that use your body like a puppet to rip people apart and pass from your body to theirs just to keep itself alive and multiplying.”

Jack said nothing. He just looked at him, his skin pale and ghostly beneath the starlight. If Jack washed away the layer of grime from his face, he was certain Davey would shine just as bright. But for now, he was muted. Snuffed out in a literal ghost town.

“So?” Davey asked quietly. “Have you ever shot one before?”

Jack knew what question he was really asking.

_Do you have someone’s blood on your hands, or did you leave them to kill someone else?_

“Three.” He said into the cool night air. A quiet breeze brushed over them, and Jack felt a part of him wishing it to carry away his words, to take them far away so he didn’t have to hear them echoing in his mind.

“Three?” Davey repeated. He looked somewhere between impressed and sorry.

“I kept count.” Jack mumbled. “First one was an accident.”

“An accident?”

“Are ya gonna keep repeatin’ me or are ya gonna let me talk?!” Jack snapped, slamming his hand down on the roof of the truck and wincing at the loud clang. He saw Davey tense and curl in on himself from the corner of his eye, and he felt that like a punch in the gut.

“Sorry.” Davey said quietly. “Didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay.” Jack sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s just...”

“I know.” Davey whispered into the night air, the words hovering in the air like a secret. “Keep going.”

Jack sighed one more time before he got the words out.

“I...” He muttered, his voice catching in his throat. “I didn’t _mean_ to do it.”

Davey didn’t say anything. He waited patiently, not saying a word as Jack collected his whirlwind of thoughts and regrets and pulled himself together.

“It got Crutchie.” He said quietly. “Dumb kid was always too damn slow for the city. And – And I don’t even know what _happened,_ I just – I saw it grab Crutchie’s leg and open its mouth and I panicked, s-so-“

Davey reached forward and touched Jack’s fingers lightly with his own. Jack gasped quietly as the warmth from Davey’s fingers spread from his hand to his arm to his chest like wildfire. He hooked his forefinger around Davey’s own and took a shuddering breath.

“I was just tryna scare it.” He whispered. “I know that much. I just wanted it to go away was all. But I musta jerked the gun or my aim musta been off or – _somethin’,_ ‘cause-“

He broke off with a quiet gasp. He pressed a hand over his eyes and forced himself to focus on the warmth of Davey’s finger hooked around his own, instead of the vivid memories of screaming, blood, a gunshot, more blood, brains, tears and dreadful, dreadful silence.

“It took ‘im a week before he could look at me again.” He muttered. “Not that I blame ‘im. I just... I guess it was the first time we realized just how ‘kill or be killed’ the world had gotten. And that we were the ones who had to make that choice.”

He chuckled bitterly, raising his hand to his hair and yanking painfully on the locks.

“How stupid is this?” He snickered, caught halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I didn’t even know the fuckin’ guy. It was just some zombie, and it woulda killed Crutchie and – I _had_ to do it. So why am I _so-?!”_

Davey rose himself into a sitting position and curled his arm around Jack’s shoulders. Jack wheezed a painful laugh, leaning into Davey’s side as he laughed hysterically, tears spilling over his cheeks and dripping onto his torn button down.

“The other two...” He whispered as his laughter subsided into quiet pants of breath, his shoulders heaving every so often. “Y’know how Spot said he used to travel with a couple guys in Brooklyn before he ran into Race? The second one was one of those guys. We’d been travellin’ together for a while, and I guess they’d been followin’ his scent or somethin’. I dunno how they work.”

He swallowed heavily, remembering the way Spot had frozen solid at his side, his eyes fixed on Graves’ mangled body limping closer and closer and closer, Race and Crutchie yelling at him to snap out of it, to run, to do _something_ , until Jack had snapped and grabbed the shotgun, pumping a round through Graves’ skull.

He never blamed Spot for screaming at him as he sobbed over Graves’ bloodied body. As much as they both knew it had never been him – that Graves, Myron, Hotshot and JoJo had all been gone the moment the parasite had reached their brains – he couldn’t imagine how it must feel to watch the body of your best friend be shot right in front of you.

“I still don’t think he’s forgiven me.” Jack said quietly. “I think he knows that I did it to protect him, but... I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for killing it.”

Davey said nothing, and for that, Jack was grateful. Because honestly, what could he say? All he did was raise his hand to Jack’s hair, toying with the brown locks and running his nails gently down his scalp. Jack sighed, feeling his stress fall away, if only a little.

“And the last one...” Jack mumbled. “The last one was just a kid.”

Davey tensed beside him.

“I was scopin’ out this rundown little shed, just outside o’ Ohio. We needed a place to spend the night, and we couldn’t find a new car to stay in. So I went in, I looked around...” He swallowed down his choked sob. “A-And I saw this kid.”

“You don’t have to.” Davey said quietly. Jack ignored him.

“She was so small.” He whispered, not meeting Davey’s eyes. “Just this – this tiny little thing, curled up on the floor. She was scared, in pain...”

He fought a gag as he remembered the ugly cavernous gash on her stomach, a gaping hole right through her abdomen.

“She hadn’t fully turned yet.” He mumbled, his accent thickening and slurring his words together as his breathing began to speed up. “But she was gettin’ there. Her hair was startin’ t’ fall out. One o’ her eyes was startin’ to glaze and crust, all gooey and sick and-“ He gagged. _“Dead.”_

“Jack-“

“She saw my gun.” He whimpered into Davey’s shirt. “She begged me to do it. She said – She said she didn’t wanna _be like them_.”

He felt Davey jolt, heard his broken gasp as he realized.

“She was just a _kid,_ Dave.” Jack muttered. “Just a kid.”

Davey let out a shuddering breath, reaching up his other hand to clutch Jack’s shoulder.

“I am...” He whispered, his voice numb wit shock. _“So_ sorry.”

Jack snorted bitterly. “Wasn’t your fault.”

“I had no idea...” Davey mumbled. “If I’d known... God, Jack, we never should’ve pulled that scam on you...”

“It’s okay.” Jack smiled as best he could, reaching up to wipe away the tears welling in Davey’s eyes with his thumbs. “It got us here, didn’t it? You and Les and Sarah...”

Davey laughed, though it sounded more like a broken cough.

“Yeah, where would you be without us annoying you?” He chuckled, rubbing Jack’s tearstained face gently with his sleeve. “I’m still sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Jack whispered. “It’s okay, Dave.”

They sat in silence for a moment, no other noises than Sarah’s heavy breathing and the occasional hum and chirp of bugs. Jack felt like laughing when he heard a cricket chirp in the distance. The Earth could explode and the only things to survive would be cockroaches, pigeons and rats. There was no getting rid of the vermin of the world.

“How old are you?” Davey asked. Jack frowned, doing a small sum in his head.

“Eighteen? I think? I always used November as the cut off, but... I don’t really know when that is anymore. Haven’t exactly been counting the days.”

“It’s September.” Davey said quietly. Jack lifted his head to look at him questioningly.

“How do you know that?”

“I mean, I think it is.” Davey shrugged, pointing at the moon above them. “I kept track of the moon’s phases ever since all the power started going out and I couldn’t tell whether it was late April or early May. New moon means new month, so it was May.”

“Seriously?” Jack frowned. “You can tell just like that?”

“Sort of.” Davey mumbled. “It’s not an exact science. See, we have a full moon now, so that means we’re midway into September, but I don’t know if it’s September fifteenth or sixteenth or maybe even the thirteenth. Just that it’s midway.”

“Still.” Jack murmured, looking at Davey in awe. “That’s really cool.”

Davey looked back at him for a moment, his eyes slightly widened with curiosity. Jack recognised that look – it was the look he wore when he was reading, when his brain kicked into analytical overdrive and he started to overthink. Davey cleared his throat and looked away.

“So, you’re eighteen?” He asked. “I’m seventeen. Sarah’s the same. Twins.” He clicked his tongue a few times, looking firmly at the bed of the truck. “Les is nine.”

Too young. That’s what Davey wasn’t saying. They were all far, far too young to be doing what they were doing, to have seen all the things they’d seen. Jack sighed, resting a hand between Davey’s shoulders.

“Have you?” He asked carefully. Davey didn’t need him to clarify or explain – they both knew what he was talking about.

“No.” Davey said quietly, like it was a confession.

“Really?” Jack frowned. “Way you handled the shotgun when we first met, I figured you was an expert.”

Davey snorted quietly. It didn’t sound very happy.

“I’m all talk.” He muttered. “If we’d met back in New York, before the outbreak, then you’d know that. All I have are words and a flair for the dramatic.” He chuckled quietly, his lip tugging into a tiny smile. “Did you know that? We’re theatre kids. The whole family. That’s how Sarah made that fake zombie bite for Les – she did stage-makeup. Had a whole YouTube channel for it. And why me and Les could fake cry so well.” He laughed a little more, broken, bubbly laughs. “So many people who deserved to live, who should’ve survived instead... And I got here just by being a fucking theatre kid.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Jack growled. “You deserve to be here. Sarah and Les need you. Hell, _we_ need you. You’s the brains, I’m the brawn. Can’t lose one, or the whole operation fails.”

“The brains?” Davey scoffed. “Please. Even in highschool, I was aggressively average. You just think I’m smart ‘cause I read a lot.”

“You can keep track o’ the months.” Jack shrugged. “You’s broken up more o’ mine and Spot’s arguments than I can count. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you lettin’ us listen when you read to Les in the backseat. You keep us sane, Dave.”

Davey let out a small breath through his nose – a tiny noise that seemed like it was trying to be a snort or a scoff but gave up halfway through. Still, he didn’t try to protest.

“Even you?” Davey asked quietly after a moment of silence. Jack frowned at him.

“What’sat mean?”

“It’s just...” Davey mumbled. “I know we made that whole agreement and we’ve been getting along better, but... We’ve never really been friends. And I don’t expect you to want to be my friend, I mean, I did do that whole – threatening you at gunpoint _thing_ , but-“

“Davey,” Jack snorted, rolling his eyes. “Here’s a little clue: if I have an entire mental breakdown in front o’ you, it means we’s friends.”

Davey smiled – not one of his wide grins that made his entire body tense, but a soft smile, one that he relaxed and sunk into as it slowly spread across his face.

“Yeah?” He asked quietly.

“Fo’ sure, idiot.” Jack scoffed, ruffling Davey’s hair and laughing as he squealed and swatted him away, trying desperately to flatten his black mop back to the way it was. Even during the apocalypse, with his clothes ripped and his skin covered in a permanent layer of grime and dust, Davey still tried his best to look neat.

“So,” Davey said quietly after a couple of beats, nodding his head at the zombie. It had ripped through the woman’s body like a wood-chipper, starting at the legs and now gnawing at her hipbones. Even from all the way across the park, Jack could make out the familiar glint of bones peeking out from under the mass of blood and muscle. “What do we do with it?”

Jack didn’t answer for a moment – he just stared at the carnage, unable to look away, like some sort of sick trance.

“I, uh...” He mumbled, cringing at the wet _snap_ of a bone breaking beneath a hungry jaw. “I don’t know.”

“It could catch up to us.” Davey said, staring at the mangled ball of zombie and corpse, flesh and blood, skin and bones. “It could kill us if we don’t kill it first. That’s how the world works now.”

He didn’t sound like he was talking to Jack. It was like he was reading facts out of a textbook, trying to cram the information deep inside.

“I saw one get killed, y’know.” Davey said casually. “I’ve never killed one, but I’ve seen it happen.”

Jack frowned.

“I thought you didn’t travel with anyone until you met us?”

“We didn’t.”

“Then who-?” He froze, the words dying on his tongue. He cast a glance to Sarah, still squirming and kicking in the bed of the truck.

“No.” He whispered, almost like a plea, a beg for it not to be true. “She didn’t. Davey – Davey, tell me she didn’t.”

Davey sighed, lying on his back on the roof of the truck.

“It’s not my story to tell.” He mumbled, like he was admitting defeat. “I mean – I was there, obviously, and it affected me and Les, of course, but... Sarah’s the one who fired the shot. She’s the one who should tell it.”

Jack nodded slowly. He looked back at Sarah in the truck; she was smothered in blankets, using her bag as a pillow with her dark hair fanned about her head like a halo. He thought about her gleeful, mischievous smiles, her sly grins, the skip in her step as they crept through abandoned supermarkets and armouries.

“She didn’t want to do it.” Davey said quietly, as if he’d read Jack’s very thoughts. “That’s all I need you to know. Everything else is her business, but... That much, I can tell you.”

Of course she didn’t want to. None of them wanted to. No one wanted this, no one _deserved_ this, and yet, here they were.

“Does it get easier?”

Jack frowned, looking over his shoulder at Davey, staring at the open sky.

“Killing them, I mean.” Davey elaborated. “Does it get easier?”

Jack glanced at the zombie across the street. It was already biting through the woman’s tank top, ripping it apart with its teeth.

“No.”

The word hung in the air like a guillotine.

“That’s what I was worried about.” Davey sighed. His hand reached out and grazed the shotgun between them. His fingers trailed down the cool metal, hooking over the trigger guard. “Maybe I should just do it. Get it out of the way, y’know?”

Jack almost wanted to laugh. Because that was just classic Davey.

“It won’t make it better.” He settled for instead. “Killing it, I mean. It won’t make Sarah’s pain any easier to bear. Won’t make me feel any better, knowing you know how it feels, too. Honestly, it’ll just make it worse.”

“Spot does it.” Davey said quietly, almost hopefully. “He does it all the time and he never seems to care.”

“He does it because he knows we ain’t got a choice, and he knows the rest of us ain’t got the balls to do it.” Jack growled. “He does it so we don’t have to. Don’t make it any easier for him.”

Davey didn’t reply. He just stared at the shotgun, his forefinger reaching out to carefully graze the trigger with his nail.

“If you think you can do it,” Jack said slowly. “Go ahead. But it won’t fix anything. We’ll still be murderers. There’ll just be one more.”

Davey closed his eyes for a moment. Took a breath. Swallowed hard. His finger drifted away from the trigger. His hand unhooked itself from the trigger guard and pulled away from the gun.

“Put it away.” He asked, almost like a beg, his voice weak and tired. “I don’t wanna see it.”

“’Course.” Jack nodded, flicking on the safety and leaning down to lower the gun to the bed of the truck. Out of sight, out of mind.

Ha fucking _ha._

“It’s still there.” Davey said quietly, and it took Jack a moment to realize he meant the zombie. “I can hear it.”

Jack sighed, looking back at the zombie loudly chewing and snapping at the woman’s corpse. He’d always hated the sounds of zombies – the squelching, slurping and chewing as they ate, and the dreadful sound of their loose skin chafing their bones as they stumbled around. It must’ve been a thousand times worse for people like Race and Davey – Asperger’s and sensory processing disorders tended to go hand in hand. The thought of those sounds, those horrible sounds, amplified and unable to block out, so much so that they actually caused physical pain – it sounded like a nightmare.

Well.

More of a nightmare than anything else in this godforsaken hellscape.

“I think I have something that can help.” Jack said quietly. He reached down into the bed of the truck and grabbed his bag, pulling out a small rectangular device and some tangled headphones that were so worse for wear that some of the wiring was starting to come loose.

“You have an MP3 player?” Davey asked in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Checked out the electronics section of a department store we looted a while back.” Jack shrugged. “Thought everythin’d be busted, what with there bein’ no power now, but I found this little beauty still kickin’. I don’t use it much - don’t wanna waste all the battery, y’know? But I’ll play a few songs if I’m feelin’... Well.” He waved his hands vaguely. “Y’know.”

Davey smiled – not quite happy, not quite bitter, something a little in between – and leaned upwards on his elbows, glancing at the screen of the MP3 player.

“Seriously?” He scoffed as Jack selected one of the songs. “That’s what we’re going with?”

“Trust me.” Jack smiled as best he could, putting one of the earbuds in place. “It’ll make you feel better.”

He took the free earbud and placed it in Davey’s right ear – it was the one furthest away from him, so it caused the cable to pull between them awkwardly, but once he lay down next to Davey and moved them around a little so that they were pressed together with Davey’s left ear smushed against his chest, the distance shortened and the cable granted them some give.

“There.” Jack said quietly, positioning Davey’s head so that his ear was planted over Jack’s heart. “Now, tell me if you can still hear it, and I’ll turn it up, a’right?”

Davey nodded mutely, winding his arms around Jack’s waist and hiding his face against his chest. Jack smiled softly, carding his hand through Davey’s hair in what he hoped was a soothing manner, and pressed play.

_Tonight, I’m gonna have myself a real good time,_

_I feel ali-i-i-ive,_

_And the world,_

_I’ll turn it inside out, yeah,_

_I’m floating around in ecstasy, so_

_Don’t stop me now,_

_Don’t stop me-_

_‘Cause I’m having a good time,_

_Having a good time..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the most domestic zombie apocalypse au ever  
> i'm gonna include some real action in chapter three  
> i'm not sure if this things gonna fit into three chapters which is gonna fuck up my cool chapter titles but  
> eh we'll see  
> tumblr is [ren-sauce](https://ren-sauce.tumblr.com/)


	3. Guaranteed to Blow Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you joking?!”
> 
> “Do you have a better idea?!”
> 
> “No, but I didn’t think you’d be the one to suggest it!”
> 
> “Hey, I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist – if jumping across rooftops is our safest option then we’re jumping across rooftops!”
> 
> “Children, please!” Spot snarled. “We’s runnin’ from big scary men with rifles here, we ain’t got time for your ‘will they won’t they’ crap right now, so for the sake of, y’know, not getting shot, please, oh please, just shut the fuck up for a second and wait until we get away to sort out your teenage romance?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> newsieland 1: 4000 words  
> newsieland 2: 8000 words  
> newsieland 3: 16000 words  
> i think i have a problem.
> 
> so who's ready for Exposition Filled and Incredibly Detailed Backstory Time!

Sometimes, Jack got real fucking sick of being the leader.

Because he wasn’t the leader. He never signed up for being a leader, never wanted to lead their little ragtag group of frightened kids pretending they were on some fun cross-country road trip. He was tired of people acting like he was the adult of the group, like he knew what he was doing, because he _didn’t_. All he knew was he needed to get Race, Spot and the Jacobs to California, he and Crutchie needed to get to Santa Fe, and he needed to keep all of them _safe_ , which was already proving a lot harder than it was cracked up to be, especially with Spot being, in Jack’s personal and unbiased opinion, a stubborn, childish _bastard._

“I ain’t forgivin’ him, Crutchie.” Jack grumbled as the door to the gas station opened behind him. “You can play peacemaker if you want but I ain’t lettin’ him get away with that shit.”

“It’s not Crutchie.”

Jack jumped, looking over his shoulder to see Davey lingering in the doorway.

“Can I come in?” He asked, shuffling awkwardly as he stared at the floor.

“Not my gas station.” Jack shrugged. Davey must’ve taken that as a yes, as he padded quietly into the station, peering at the ransacked shelves, the products strewn about the room, and the suspicious stains on the floor and walls.

“Is there anything in here?” He asked cautiously, holding his knife to his chest defensively.

“All clear. Checked the place before I came in. The stains are old, no bodies anywhere and no fresh tracks. Whatever was in here’s long gone.”

Davey nodded. His knife remained unsheathed.

“Still mad at Spot, then?” He asked, idly wandering about the aisles.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” Jack growled, stuffing water bottles into his pack. “So if you’s just here t’ interrogate me or whatever, you can go.”

“I’m not interrogating you, Jack.” Davey sighed, scanning the shelves. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Is that so hard to believe?”

Sometimes, Jack forgot that they were friends now. He didn’t think it was all his fault – he and Davey had been doing a pretty good job of pretending their talk on the truck had never happened, save for a few changes to their behaviours. They were both getting better at communicating, which was good, and while they could both be stubborn and quick to snap, Jack liked to think they were a little more patient with each other now.

There were other things, too. Like when Davey quietly pressed his fingers against Jack’s whenever they heard the echo of Spot’s shotgun. Like when Jack made sure to sit by Davey whenever they stopped to sleep somewhere, so that if either of them were having trouble sleeping, they could lean into each other in a silent _I’m here._ Like when if one of them woke up with a jolt and a sharp intake of breath, tears threatening to fall from their eyes, the other would grab Jack’s shitty little MP3 player and put on some cheesy happy song to make them forget.

But they didn’t talk about that.

“Sorry.” Jack mumbled. “I’m just...”

“I know.” Davey nodded. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Jack shot him a grateful smile. As stubborn and desperate for answers as Davey could be, let it never be said he wasn’t respectful of boundaries.

“Who’s manning the car?” Jack asked in what he hoped was an offhand manner. The car they were currently using had broken down on the Lincoln Highway (a chewed up shinbone had gotten caught under the car – Jack didn’t want to think about how it could’ve gotten there), planted right on the outskirts of the town of Evanston. There was a gas station close by – all they needed to do was hop over the mangled fence that ran along the highway and run down a small slope – so they’d decided one team would replenish their water rations while another would look for a new car to hotwire, with one more team staying to hold down the old car, just in case. Jack had left before they’d assigned the teams – he knew if he’d stayed any longer he’d wind up soaking Spot in the face, and that would just upset Les and probably overwhelm Race and Davey, so he’d decided to cool off instead.

Davey grimaced at the question, his fingers dancing along the chip packets.

“Sarah’s one of them.” He said carefully, making Jack’s hands clench into fists. Sarah’s aim was impeccable, and, thanks to Davey, Jack knew she had killed a zombie before, but she’d never mentioned it and she always looked still and uneasy whenever they heard an echoing gunshot after Spot volunteered to ‘take care’ of a nearby zombie. She’d done it before – Jack didn’t doubt that. What he doubted was whether she’d be able to do it again.

“Who’s the other?” Jack asked, his eyes narrowed.

“You said you didn’t want to talk about it-“

“Who else is manning the car, Davey?”

Davey sighed, realizing that Jack was not going to let this go.

“Crutchie.”

Jack’s spine turned to stone. He exhaled slowly through his nose, placing the last of the water bottles into his pack and zipping it up with a swift flick of his wrist.

“I’m gonna kill ‘im.”

“Don’t you dare!” Davey snapped, grabbing Jack’s wrist as he lunged for the door. “Jack, I know you’re mad-“

“Understatement of the _fucking_ century!” Jack snarled, ripping his hand free. “Do you have any idea how fucking entitled he is?! He _knows_ they can’t handle that shit! Sarah’s only killed, what, _one?!_ It doesn’t get easier, Davey, it lingers! And then you kill another and you think, okay, so now I’m _definitely_ a murderer, and then you kill another and another and another and it _all! Adds! Up!”_

“Jack-!”

“And Crutchie’s just a kid, Dave!” Jack cried, pacing the gas station with heavy steps. “Does Spot really think he can handle all the feelings, the regret, the responsibility, the _what-if’s_ of actually pulling the trigger?! Is he really gonna subject a fucking _kid_ to that, just because he doesn’t feel like doing it-?!”

“How do you think it is for him?!” Davey snapped. Jack stopped his pacing, rounding on Davey with a small sting of betrayal in his stomach.

 _“Excuse_ me?!”

Davey looked like he was about to yell back, but seemed to think better of it. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he pieced together the words in his mind.

“Okay...” He said slowly, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the right way to say it. “Okay, it’s like this – you said that – that _killing,”_ the way he says the word makes it sound like a curse, reluctantly crawling from his throat like some kind of dirty word he knew he shouldn’t be saying, “a zombie... It’s a big deal, right?”

“There’s an understatement.” Jack muttered.

“Jack, you told me you’ve killed three.” Davey said firmly, his eyes sharp. It was unnerving, how easily he could say the thing that Jack couldn’t even bare to think about for too long. “Do you know how many Spot’s killed?”

Jack frowned, his mouth falling open as his retort died on his tongue.

“W-Well...” He mumbled. “There was that one at the Krispy Kreme... And a couple on the way to Denver... Few when we left New York, before we ran into you guys...” He wilted under Davey’s hard stare. “But he only does it ‘cause he knows the rest of us can’t, I told you that!”

“You also told me that that didn’t make it any easier.” Davey said firmly. “Jack, I obviously don’t understand how it feels, and I really don’t wanna downplay any of what you feel, but – however bad it is for you, how bad do you think it is for him?”

Jack swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. How many times, he wondered, had Spot laid awake at night, a slideshow of faces flickering behind his eyes, before and after pictures, the ‘before’s of happy, smiling people, the ‘after’s of rotting corpses with bullet holes in their heads? How many times had Spot been left behind to man the car with their shotgun in hand, wondering what would happen if he just didn’t pull the trigger this time? How many times had Spot woken up in a cold sweat, desperately trying to claw his way out of the responsibility they’d unknowingly shoved onto his shoulders?

He’d never seen Spot cry before. He wondered how many times Spot had cried since they’d left New York. He wondered whether any of them had cared enough to notice.

“Shit.” He muttered, raking a hand through his hair and pulling hard. _“Shit.”_

“It wasn’t right of him to leave Sarah and Crutchie with that responsibility.” Davey said quietly, taking Jack gently by the wrist and pulling his hand away from where it was yanking on his brown locks. “I’m not saying it was. It’s like you said, they’re just kids. They can’t handle it. But I’m also saying... It’s not _wrong_ of him for not wanting that responsibility for once.”

“Ya right.” Jack said quietly, his voice ragged and painful in his throat. “Ya right, ‘course ya right, I just...” He sighed, squeezing Davey’s hand with his own. “I dunno what t’ do, Dave.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Davey said gently. “It isn’t your job to solve this problem.”

“It should be.” Jack muttered. “Hell, outta all of us, I’m the one who knows how it feels the most.”

“Stop it.” Davey said firmly, taking Jack’s face with his free hand. “It is not your job to fix everything. I know you want to, but you can’t. What you _can_ do is adapt to the problem.”

“How do I do that?”

“Cut him some slack.” Davey shrugged. “Let him rest a little, let him take a break. You don’t have to talk to him, but let him know you’re there if he wants you to be. Just... Be there. Y’know?”

“Be there.” Jack echoed. “I think I can do that...”

Davey smiled brightly. “That’s perfect, Jackie.”

Jack quirked his lip in a little half smile at the nickname.

“How d’you know this stuff?” He asked genuinely, his head tilted in the way that made Davey do those soft little exhale-laughs.

“Sarah was born, like, two minutes before I was, which _technically_ makes me the middle child. So I think I inherited all the middle child genes.”

Jack rose an amused eyebrow. “Love it when you talk science t’ me, Davey.”

Davey shot him a fingergun, making him snort.

“Ready to go back to the car?”

Jack sighed dramatically, tipping his head back.

_“Fine.”_

Davey did his soft little ‘aha’ laugh and led him out of the gas station, chatting about any little thing that came into his head (“Hey look that bird’s got a sock on its head.” “So how do you think that blue stain got there?” “Is it bad that that crashed cop car makes me really happy to look at?”). Jack liked when Davey talked like that. His thought process was fun to listen to. He knew the real reason why Davey was doing it – it was the same reason why he kept rubbing his thumb over Jack’s knuckles and spoke in a softer, quieter tone than his usual one. But he didn’t mind, though. It was nice.

“Thanks.” Jack said quietly as they walked back up the slope to the highway, yellow grass crunching under their shoes.

“For what?” Davey hummed, distracted by the hole wearing through the fabric at the front of his shoe. Jack rolled his eyes and squeezed their joined hands.

“You know what.”

Davey looked up from where he was worrying about his shoes, a light shade of pink dusting his cheekbones.

“Uh.” He mumbled and looked away, his thumb moving in circles over the back of Jack’s hand. “No, sorry, not sure what you mean.”

Jack snorted but didn’t respond, choosing instead to let their hands swing as they walked back to the car. They looked kind of like a couple, he thought idly, walking with their joined hands swinging to and fro. Maybe if they were walking through a town instead of a highway and the outskirts were dotted with flowers instead of corpses, if their hair wasn’t matted with dirt and their clothes weren’t splashed with blood and sweat and grime, if they were going home instead of a broken down car and their eyes were the eyes of children and not the eyes of people who had quite literally stared death in the face, then maybe-

Jack yanked his hand away.

“Sorry.” He said quickly when Davey shot him a questioning glance, one part confusion, one part disappointed and one part something Jack couldn’t quite place. “Palm was getting sweaty.”

“Oh.” Davey nodded. “I, um. I didn’t really notice.”

“Sorry.” Jack said again, stuffing his hands in his pockets. They walked in silence, Davey scuffing his shoes along the hot tarmac and Jack trying his best to keep his glances at Davey’s hands from being too obvious.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Davey said quietly once they were within a few feet of the car, before turning swiftly on his heel and climbing into the backseat.

“Uh oh.” A familiarly irritating voice drawled. “Someone’s upset the hubby.”

Jack huffed, over a hundred percent ready to turn around, grab Spot by his stupid hair and slam his equally stupid face into the car window – but unfortunately, Davey seemed insistent on unknowingly making Jack a better person, so he didn’t.

“Shaddup.” Jack sighed, shoving Spot’s head lightly (he might be becoming a better person, but that didn’t make Spot any less of an asshole). “Ain’tcha got anthin’ betta to do than make fun o’ me?”

“We’s travellin’ ‘cross an entire continent while being trapped in a big metal box, Jack, whadda you think?” Spot scoffed, swatting Jack’s hand away. Jack frowned – usually, touching Spot’s hair would get you either best case scenario, a punch to the shoulder, or worst case scenario, a jab in the ribs with the hilt of his knife. He noted the way Spot was standing – arms crossed defensively, staring at the floor instead of meeting Jack’s eyes. He looked almost – and Jack couldn’t believe he was even _thinking_ this – scared.

Spot cleared his throat, still stubbornly refusing to meet Jack’s gaze.

“So, uh, I was thinkin’,” he said awkwardly, scuffing the ground with his heel. “I ain’t sure if ya seen him yet, but Crutchie looked a little, uh... Uneasy, when we got back. Now y’know I think Crutchie’s great, but seriously, kid looked ready to shoot anythin’ that moved, he was so scared. So, um. I don’t think I’s gonna leave ‘im with the gun again. Or anyone, I think. Probably just me, like you said. Just in case. Y’know?”

The temptation to throw his arms around Spot and scream and tease him ‘til sundown because _you love us, you felt bad, you worry about us, you want us to feel happy and safe and not scared and secure and you love us you love us you! Love! Us!_ was strong, but Jack knew how much it must’ve taken for him to say that. It was the closest to an apology any of them had ever gotten from Spot – well, except for Race, probably, but comparing Spot’s relationship with Race to his relationship with the rest of the union was like comparing apples and pool noodles.

“Well,” Jack shrugged, “you can trust some of us with it. I mean, I think I could take it a few times, if that’s okay with you.”

Spot rose an eyebrow, looking at him carefully. Jack cleared his throat and did everything he could to keep his expression neutral.

“Ya don’t gotta do that, y’know.”

“Dunno whatcha talkin’ ‘bout, Spotty.” Jack shrugged, mimicking Davey’s coy expression from earlier. Spot opened his mouth, but his protest was cut off by the loud revving of an engine. Both boys jumped, Spot grabbing his knife and Jack ready to dive into the car and grab the shotgun, when their eyes landed on a familiar dumbass Italian dangling his head out of the window of-

“Oh my _god.”_ Spot whispered gravelly.

“No.” Jack groaned, his face falling into his hands. _“Please_ no.”

“Boys!” Race grinned, swinging out of the drivers seat and gesturing to the white Fengguang 370 with pride. “Meet Karen!”

“A mom van.” Jack sighed, his voice not even nearly matching how dead he felt on the inside. “You seriously got us a mom van?”

“It has a belt.” Spot whispered in horror as he pointed to the strip of wood encircling the car. “Why does it have a _belt?!”_

“Race, tell me it doesn’t have a bumper sticker.” Jack pleaded. “Oh my god, it has a bumper sticker, doesn’t it? Is it Republican? If it has a Republican bumper sticker, we ain’t takin’ it!”

“Quit bein’ mean to her!” Race cried, pressing himself against the side of the van in an unsuccessful and very very _weird_ hug. “Don’t listen to ‘em, Karen! They’s just jealous!”

“Jealous of its minion air conditioner?” Spot asked, pointing to the piece of yellow fabric swinging from the rear-view mirror.

“Sweet Jesus.” Jack all but sobbed.

“She ain’t an _it,_ she’s a _she!”_ Race huffed. “And besides, we’re not gonna get a better car than this out here! The keys were still in the ignition, there were no corpses and the stains were all outside the vehicle, she has space, she has minions and she’s part of our family now, so get in!”

“I hate you.” Spot sighed, reaching to take the keys from where they hung on Race’s finger, but Race just smirked, holding his hand above his head. “Hey!”

“Sorry, Spotty!” Race smiled, tapping Spot’s nose and delighting in the small blush that spread from that one point. “You’re resting with me in the backseat, no exceptions!”

“But-!”

“Looks like ya don’t gotta choice, Spot.” Jack smirked. “Get in the back and start sleepin’, we’ll bring our stuff and then we’ll get on the road – c’mon, Racer, gimme the keys.”

“Ah-ah!” Race snapped, snatching the keys away when Jack reached for them. “Not you either, Cowboy!”

“What?!”

“Interesting.” Spot grinned, because even though he wasn’t getting his way, nothing would stop him from delighting in Jack’s misery.

“We have a mom van now.” Race said seriously, twirling the keys on his finger. “Which means there is only one person who may take the first drive. Davey!” He yelled at the old car, snapping his fingers. “Shake a leg, buddy!”

“Oh my god.” Spot gasped, raising his hand to his mouth. “Davey’s the mom.”

“What?!” Jack grimaced. “No he ain’t!”

“No, he ain’t _your_ mom, ‘course he ain’t your mom!” Spot huffed, rolling his eyes. “But he’s _definitely_ our mom!”

Before Jack could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Davey was forcible pulled out of the car and yanked to the drivers seat in a flurry of rapid fire explanations from Race and a few quiet mutters of ‘why does it have a belt?’ from Davey. Jack chuckled at his evident confusion, jogging to the passenger door before he could notice Spot rolling his eyes.

“In your element, huh?” Jack smirked, making to slide into shotgun when Davey’s hand landed on his shoulder – not in the comforting ‘I’m here’ way that Jack had slowly been getting used to, but a firm sort of hold; not a push, but still not inviting.

“Actually,” Davey said awkwardly, his eyes darting sideways and landing on the minion air freshener. “I think Sarah wanted to sit shotgun.”

“Uh,” Jack frowned, because surely he’d heard wrong, they always sat together when one of them was driving, ever since the day of the deal when Davey had made that comment about them having to keep an eye on him, it was their running joke, it was their _thing-_ “What?”

“She’s a little shaken up.” Davey said quickly. “From, uh, being stuck in the car by herself for so long. She’s not used to having less than two other people keeping her company, y’know?” He tried for a laugh. It didn’t work.

Jack tilted his head, an action that normally would’ve made Davey snort and scoff – now, he just looked away, nibbling his lip.

“But...” Jack mumbled. “Are you-?”

“I think you should go in the back with Crutchie.” Davey said firmly, still refusing to look him in the eye. “There are two seats in the very back, they lift up or something – that’s what Race said. Crutchie looked kinda jumpy, I think you should make sure he’s okay.”

“I don’t understand.” Jack said quietly, his voice so pathetically small and timid that it made even himself cringe. He wanted to ask what’s wrong, what did he do, just tell him and he’ll fix it, he promises-

He bit the inside of his cheek, keeping his mouth firmly shut.

“There’s nothing _to_ understand.” Davey muttered, his voice growing colder by the second. “I just think I should be with Sarah right now. And you should be with Crutchie. That’s it.”

Jack opened his mouth and closed it again, nodding slowly as he dropped from where he was standing on the little step that led to the passenger seat.

“Yeah.” He said quietly. If David noticed the tiny hitch in his voice, he didn’t show it. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Davey mumbled.

“I know.” Jack nodded. “Just, um. Sorry.”

He slunk into the backseat, hopping into the trunk of the car and pulling up the two extra lifting chairs, carefully moving their bags of provisions so they weren’t covering the chairs but still left some leg room for him and Crutchie. He took longer organising the bags, stacking them intently, making sure larger items were at the bottom of the piles and the more delicate items were higher up, but not so high that they’d break if they fell. It didn’t work, though. His thoughts kept running back to Davey.

He jolted out of his misery by the trunk opening, and leapt to catch one of the bags that had been nudged by the door and was now threatening to fall out onto the highway.

“Hey, Jack.” Crutchie smiled, contrasted by the lingering fear in his eyes. “Give a pal a hand?”

Jack smiled and nodded silently, taking Crutchie’s axillary crutch and stowing it in the corner before placing his hands under Crutchie’s waist and underarm and hoisting him into the trunk with him, being careful not to jostle his leg too much.

“There ya go, kid.” Jack grinned as Crutchie pulled himself into one of the chairs, swatting Jack away when he tried to help. “Best seats in the house.”

“Think you’d rather be somewhere else.” Crutchie smirked, nodding to where Davey and Sarah were talking softly in the front seat, just quiet enough for them not to hear. “Trouble in paradise?”

“You’s as bad as Spot.” Jack huffed, shoving his head.

“And you’s oblivious as hell.” Said Crutchie, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, talk to him a’ready!”

“Don’t think he wants to talk t’ me right now, Crutch.” Jack snorted humorlessly. “Sides, why’d I wanna be up there with the sun in my eyes when I can chill here with you?”

“Don’t say chill.”

“Chill.” Jack smirked, flicking Crutchie’s hair. “C’mon, whatcha wanna play? I Spy?”

“How old do you think I am?” Crutchie snorted.

“What, suddenly you’s too cool for games?”

“I don’t wanna play a game right now.” Crutchie shrugged, leaning over to rest his head on Jack’s shoulder despite the seatbelt biting into his shoulder. “I’m... Tired.”

Jack sighed, curling his hand through Crutchie’s hair.

“Sorry for stormin’ off.” He said quietly. “I just needed to cool down a sec – didn’t think about how scary it musta been for you.”

“S’okay.” Crutchie mumbled. “I just... I kept wonderin’ what I’d do if one actually showed up, y’know?”

“You don’t gotta think about it.” Jack said firmly. “Me ‘n Spot, we’ll handle the gun stuff, okay? You can, um. You can raid some o’ the food places with us, or-“

“Please.” Crutchie snorted. “We both know I’d only slow you guys down. Face it, Jack, I got nothin’.”

“You _do._ ” Jack snapped. “You just – You just don’t see it yet.”

Before Crutchie could protest, Davey let out a small curse in the front seat.

“Dammit.” He muttered, taking off his holey shoe and leaning over the back of his chair to holler into the car. “Hey, does anyone here know how to sew? It doesn’t have to be good, I just need this thing to last me until we find a shoe store or something.”

“You don’t know how to sew?” Race frowned.

Davey flushed indignantly, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward tick.

“W-Well,” he mumbled. “I can _manage_ , but-“

 _“Please.”_ Sarah snorted. “The last time Davey tried sewing he stabbed himself in the shoulder.”

“It’s not like I meant to!”

“Then why didn’t you take the shirt _off_ before you tried sewing it?!”

“I’ll take it if you want.” Crutchie said, leaning over the backseat to grab the shoe from where it was dangling in Davey’s hand. Davey paused, cutting off his own retort, and fixed Crutchie with a quizzical look.

“You know how to sew?”

“I mean, a little.” Crutchie shrugged. “Ain’t really sure what good it’ll do for a shoe, probably won’t last all that long, but, y’know. It’ll make do. Y’got a sewin’ kit?”

Sarah wordlessly handed him a small tin from her backpack.

“I can’t believe you went from New York to Wyoming without telling us you knew how to sew.” She said in shock. Crutchie shrugged awkwardly, keeping his gaze on the floor.

“Ain’t a big deal or nothin’.”

“Ya think you could do my jacket next?” Race asked, flipping a bit of the fabric to show a hole in one of the pockets. “It’s been buggin’ me since Kansas.”

“Uh.” Crutchie blinked, glancing at Jack questioningly. “Sure, if ya want.”

“If ya got any spare thread, there’s a seam comin’ loose on my pack.” Spot said in what Jack was fairly certain was the closest any of them had ever gotten to a request from Spot Conlon (again, not including Race). “I wouldn’t make a big deal of it normally, but the thing’s hangin’ by a damn thread.”

“My socks have been falling apart-“

“If you’ve got time, there’s a big rip in my shirt-“

“I don’t mean to pile on, but if you can, this button’s coming loose and-“

About fifteen minutes later, Crutchie was sat happily in the backseat, swaddled in piles of jackets and spare shirts and other random items of clothing like a mouse in its nest. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully threaded the needle through the seam of Spot’s backpack, the sutures neat and even against the canvas fabric.

“You see it now?” Jack smirked.

“I’ll stab you with this needle, Cowboy, don’t think I won’t.”

oOo

“So, I gotta ask...” Davey frowned as they wandered around the abandoned supermarket. “Why Twinkies?”

“Uh, hello, best snack _ever_.” Spot said offhandedly as he scoured the shelves. “Sponge cake with a cream centre? It’s perfection.”

“Don’t listen to him.” Jack smirked, tugging Davey towards him by his shoulder so he could whisper. “There’s already one twinkie in the car he can’t have, so he’s gotta settle for another.”

Davey snorted, covering his mouth with his hand to smother his giggles. Jack was about to laugh with him when a bag of Cheetos smacked him in the face.

“Hey!”

“Oops.” Spot deadpanned. “Sorry.”

Davey laughed even harder, quickly trying to mask his snickers as coughs once he noticed Jack glaring at him.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, smiling sheepishly. Jack smirked and rolled his eyes, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

“Just get t’ work, beanpole.” He chuckled.

“Rodger dodger.” Davey nodded, shooting him a quick salute as he did a little half-jog to a cooler of drinks. Spot rose an eyebrow, waiting until Davey was across the room and out of earshot before turning to Jack as he stuffed sandwiches into his pack.

“Level with me,” he said in a low voice, making sure Davey couldn’t hear. “What’s up with you two?”

Jack winced, suddenly invested in what bag of carrot sticks to pack for the road(Davey forced them to bring back at least one healthy thing for each person in the car – it got ugly). The truth was, not even he was certain how to answer that question, and he doubted Davey was, either. They definitely didn’t hate each other anymore; in fact, Jack would dare to call them friends. They made jokes, they talked, they even playfully ragged on each other from time to time, and Jack was actually enjoying it.

That was kind of the problem.

“There’s nothin’ _up_ with us.” Jack shrugged in what he hoped was an offhand manner. “We’s friends.”

“No, _we’s_ friends.” Spot corrected, gesturing between him and Jack. “You n’ Davey’s somethin’ else.”

Jack wrinkled his nose.

“What’sat s’posed t’ mean?”

“It means you n’ me don’t hold hands and then get awkward and not speak for two hours.” Spot glared. “You n’ Davey do.”

“You saw that?!”

“Dude.” Spot deadpanned. _“Everyone_ saw that.”

“But – w-we ain’t – we weren’t-!” Jack tried to protest, though even he could tell it was weak. “We just – we ain’t used to each other yet, that’s it!”

“Then get used to each other, then.” Spot huffed. “Because I tells ya, that whole angry sexual tension thing was manageable at best, but if you guys keep being all teenage romcom about it like you are now, I’m gonna have to kill a bitch.”

“Oh, shut up with that shit.” Jack grumbled, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Davey hadn’t heard. “We’re _friends_. You’re gonna freak him out.”

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t.” Jack growled. “Now shut up.”

They fall into silence as they wordlessly pack rations into their bags; they don’t bother with checking expiration dates, considering that pretty much everything was out of date now. If there was no mould on the food, they’d eat it. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and they were the closest to beggars as things came nowadays.

Jack couldn’t help but think about what Spot had said. Because he liked Davey, really, he did. They were friends – awkward friends who weren’t entirely sure how to exist normally around each other yet, but friends nonetheless. But even when the world was normal, Jack had still kept people at bay. He had friends; he laughed and he joked and he hung out with people, sure, but he always, always, _always_ controlled how much he was showing, how much he was feeling, how much he was letting people see. And now? After weeks of having no human contact other than Crutchie, Race and Spot? He barely even knew how to interact with other people anymore, let alone Davey. How was he supposed to let him in, to let him know that Jack cared about him, when he was just barely figuring out how to talk to the guy?

At least they were friends. That much had been cleared up. At least they understood each other now.

“Jack?” He heard Davey ask, a gentle hand shaking his shoulder. “We’re going.”

“Oh!” Jack jolted, scrambling away from Davey’s touch. “Uh – yeah. Sorry. Was just, uh...” ( _Christ_ , his eyes were blue-) “Thinkin’.”

Davey looked at him quizzically for a moment before shaking his head and laughing through his nose – one of those little exhale laughs that Jack used to find annoying. Used to.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself.” Davey chuckled. “C’mon, I can drive if you’re too zoned out.”

“Y’been drivin’ since we left Evanston, Dave, you deserve a break more ‘an any of us.” Jack insisted as they crept out of the supermarket.

Davey chuckled humorlessly, his laugh blending in perfectly with the lifeless environment of the city around them. It wasn’t right. Davey wasn’t supposed to be grey and muted like the washed out walls they crept through. He was supposed to be bright and colourful, lighting up the world with splashes of blues and purples and silvers wherever he went. The only way Jack could describe him now was... _Beige._ And no one liked beige.

“Davey?” He frowned, nudging him with his shoulder as they wandered back to the car, sticking close to the shadows on the walls. “You okay?”

Davey jumped, frowning for a moment as he worried his lower lip with his teeth.

“It’s nothing.” He said quietly, his fingers fiddling together as he walked. “It’s just, um. I’ve been meaning to ask... When we were in Evanston, did you-?”

_“Get down!”_

Spot tackled the two of them to the ground just as a spray of bullets tore into the space on the wall where their heads had been moments before.

“What the fuck?!” Jack cried. Davey groaned beside him, grabbing his temple. “Who was that?”

“Does it matter?! They have a fuckin’ rifle!” Spot snapped hauling the two of them to their feet. “Stay low and _run_ , morons!”

Jack’s stomach constricted with panic, bursts of white hot fear shooting up his veins. He grabbed Davey’s hand and yanked him along as he followed Spot into an alley, wincing when he heard another rain of bullets.

“Shit.” Spot cursed as they turned a corner. “Dead end.”

“No.” Davey said raggedly, stumbling to the side of the alley. “There’s a door here.”

“We can’t go in a buildin’!” Jack hissed. “We don’t know if there’s any zombies in there, Davey, and even if there weren’t, we’d have nowhere to go but up! Either way, we’s cornered!”

“Do you have any other ideas?!” Davey snapped, his eyes flickering with blue fire.

“It’s gonna be locked, anyways!” Jack countered. “How’re you gonna get in, huh?!”

Davey shot him a flat look before promptly turning on his heel and kicking the door, hard. It swung open, hinges straining, the force of Davey’s kick slamming it into the wall.

“Door’s unlocked.” He smiled. “Let’s go.”

“How did you do that?!” Spot cried as they quickly shut the door and ran into the building’s basement, Davey taking the lead with Spot tugging Jack’s dazed body behind them.

“Same way we kicked all of your asses the first time we met - about three years of karate and stage combat lessons.” Davey shrugged as he leapt up the stairs two at a time. “Plus the wood was, like, _really_ splintered.”

“Well, it was fuckin’ cool.” Spot smirked as they ran up the flights of stairs, all three of them grimacing as they heard the door bang open beneath them. Spot growled as Jack lagged behind. “What’sa matter with you?!”

“Sorry!” Jack yelped, his brain shutting off from replaying the memory of Davey kicking down the door because that probably wasn’t what he was supposed to be thinking of right now. “Uh – roof?”

“Roof.” Davey nodded. “We should be able to jump across to the other buildings.”

“Are you joking?!” Jack cried, his lungs screaming from all the running plus yelling.

“Again, do you have a better idea?!”

“No, but I didn’t think _you’d_ be the one to suggest it!”

“Hey, I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist – if jumping across rooftops is our safest option then we’re jumping across rooftops!”

“Children, _please!”_ Spot snarled. “We’s runnin’ from big scary men with rifles here, we ain’t got time for your ‘will they won’t they’ crap right now, so for the sake of, y’know, not getting shot, please, oh please, just shut the _fuck_ up for a second and wait until we get away to sort out your teenage romance?!”

The two boys spluttered indignantly, practically tripping up the stairs in a need to both run away from potential death and tell Spot how wrong he was (because he was wrong. Totally wrong. Absolutely one hundred percent incorrect.).

“Jesus Christ, Spot, we are _not-!”_

“I know, I know, you ain’t fuckin’ yet or whatever, that’s _your_ problem!” Spot snapped. “But right now we got bigger fish to fry, so shut up, give me the gun, and _run for it!”_

Jack growled in frustration, shoving the shotgun into Spot’s hands as they sprinted up the stairs.

“You’s a real piece o’ shit, y’know that?”

“Save it for when we ain’t about to die!”

After what felt like both a second and a lifetime, they burst through another splintering door to the roof, panting heavily as their muscles screamed.

“That way!” Davey wheezed, pointing to rooftop of the opposite building. “It shouldn’t be that much of a jump, we can make it!”

They stumbled to the ledge, peering into the alley below.

“Looks like a five foot jump, at least.” Spot mumbled to himself. “We should be able to make it...”

“Davey, you go first.” Jack said quickly. “Spot, gimme the gun, then you go.”

“What, and just leave you behind?!” Davey said fiercely before Spot could even protest.

“I ain’t bein’ left behind!” Jack snapped. “Look, we ain’t got time to argue, just jump!”

Davey shot him a withering glare.

 _“Fine.”_ He spat. “But if you don’t jump too, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Without waiting for Jack to respond, he took a few steps back and took a running start, leaping over the alley with his arms and legs flailing. He landed awkwardly on his left leg, stumbling and collapsing onto the roof on his side.

“Hurry up!” He yelled back to them as he pulled himself up. Jack nodded, turning to Spot.”

“Gimme the gun.”

“No.”

Jack blanched.

“Spot, we ain’t got time-!”

“Then I guess you’d better stop arguing with me and jump.” Spot said coolly.

“What are you waiting for?!” Davey yelled from across the alley. “They’re coming!”

Jack grit his teeth, glancing from the door to the roof.

“Together.” He said firmly, taking Spot by the shoulder. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Spot shrugged. “Three, two, one, go!”

They both sprinted to the ledge, kicking off the small half-wall just as they heard a yell from the roof door. Everything else happened in a blur – the jump, the feeling of weightlessness, the loud ripple of rapid fire explosions, the splash of red and then the slam of the rooftop under their bodies.

Jack groaned as the gritty stone scraped against his shoulder. Davey grabbed him as he tried to pull himself up, shoving him behind the half-wall.

“Get down, stay still and shut up!” He hissed, crawling on his knees along the roof to grab Spot’s crumpled body and pull him towards them.

“Shit.” Jack whispered when he saw the red stain on Spot’s sleeve.

“Yeah. Shit.” Davey nodded. “Spot, can you hear me?”

Spot nodded frantically, his eyes wide and breath ragged.

“I know, I know.” Davey murmured, reaching to lift up his sleeve. “Let me see.”

Spot writhed away, shaking his head in a firm and fierce _no._ Davey made a frustrated noise through gritted teeth, his fingers tangling in the hem his shirt. Jack winced – he was getting overwhelmed. They were already at a disadvantage, but if Davey were to have a breakdown here of all places, they would be royally screwed.

“Spotty, just let him take a look.” Jack insisted, taking Davey’s hand away from his shirt. “I know it’s scary, but he’ll help, _promise_. Davey, take a breath.” He said firmly, squeezing Davey’s hand. “Ground yourself, okay? I know it looks bad but it’s gonna be fine, I _promise_.”

Davey nodded, taking a hard breath through his nose.

“Okay.” He whispered raggedly. “Okay. Spot, I don’t have to lift your sleeve, but just – just let me take a look, okay?”

Spot glanced at Jack before gingerly raising his arm, wincing as he lifted it.

“Does it hurt?” Davey asked, which honestly made Jack want to scoff because _he’d just been fucking shot in the arm-_

“Not – not really.” Spot whispered. “It’s like a baseball bat or, or somethin’. Ain’t great, but. Y’know.”

“It’s still scary.” Davey said gently. “It’s okay if you feel scared.”

“Oh, I’s _definitely_ scared.” Spot chuckled humorlessly. “What’s gonna happen?”

“My dad got shot once when he was in his twenties. Some old buddies of his went on a hunting trip and... Well, it doesn’t matter right now.” Davey said quietly, examining red mark cutting through Spot’s sleeve. “He said it didn’t actually hurt all that much – he didn’t even realize it. He drove himself to the hospital, actually. It’s still serious, obviously, but I think we’ll be able to run for it without hurting you.” He grabbed the knife he kept sheathed at his side, tearing off a slice of his shirt. “Here. This might hurt a little.”

Spot winced as Davey tied the makeshift bandage around his arm, stuffing his fist into his mouth and biting down hard.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Davey whispered frantically. “It’s just to stop the bleeding – we’ll treat it properly when we get to the car.”

“Gotcha.” Spot nodded, his breathing ragged. “What do we do now?”

“They’s still up there.” Jack murmured quietly, glancing up from where they were hunkered behind the half-wall. “I know they is. I just dunno why they ain’t shootin’ at us yet.”

“Conserving ammunition.” Davey said gravely. “They don’t wanna waste bullets shooting at a wall. They’re gonna wait until we make a run for it and mow us down.”

“So, we’s sittin’ ducks.” Spot muttered, his voice still tight from the pain. “Fantastic.”

Davey grimaced, glancing around the roof as his brain kicked into overdrive.

“I think I have an idea.” He said slowly. “The door to the rest of the building is over there, see? To the left.”

Jack nodded, idly noting the way Spot’s face kept twinging every so often – maybe the shock of the bullet wound was starting to ware off...

“Okay, stay here.” Davey murmured, lowering himself to his hands and knees as he shuffled around the two other boys. “I’m gonna go around and stay low – on my signal, run for the door.”

“Whoa!” Jack hissed, grabbing his wrist. “You expect us to just stay here while you stick your neck out?!”

“Yes.” Davey said simply. Jack’s jaw fell slack, about to protest, when Davey slapped a hand over his mouth. “Jack!” He huffed. “Look, I can _do_ this, okay? I told you, we managed to follow you guys for two days, and that was with _Les!_ You said I’m smart, right? So _trust me.”_

Jack wanted to protest – he really, _really_ did. It wasn’t right – Davey shouldn’t be the one to put his life on the line to save their asses. He had Sarah and Les, a family, he _needed_ to stay safe. Jack was the one with nothing left to lose, he should’ve been the one to go. But Davey was stubborn and righteous and _perfect_ which apparently meant he had a need to always do the ‘right’ thing. And Jack hated it.

Davey smiled, taking Jack’s silence as a ‘yes’. He scampered out from where he was tucked between the two boys, keeping his body low and hunched against the half-wall. Quiet murmuring came from the roof behind them, and Jack felt his heart freeze over when he heard one of them say _‘wait’_ sharply, the thud of footsteps edging closer to the ledge.

Spot shot him a panicked glance as Davey rolled expertly behind a vent, the sounds from the other roof growing louder. Jack bit his lip and shook his head, because no, of course they didn’t see him, Davey was smart, Davey had a plan, Davey could hide from anyone and so help him god Davey was _not_ going to get shot-

A brick sailed over the half-wall. A sickening _crunch_ came from the half-wall, echoed by a single cry of _‘fuck!’._

“Now!” Davey yelled, bursting from behind a vent as all three of them scrambled for the door. Jack barely managed to slam it shut before another rain of bullets pelted the roof where they’d been standing.

“How did you know that’d work?!” He cried as they sprinted down the stairs.

“Um – I didn’t.”

“You _didn’t-?!”_

“Time to go!” Davey said quickly, grabbing the two other boys by the wrist and yanking them along with him. “Quick now, before the guy catches up to us!”

“The guy?” Jack frowned as they all but tripped down the stairs. “Don’t you mean the _guys_? Like, plural?”

“What?” Davey rose an eyebrow. “Jack, there was only one guy.”

“But I heard two voices, I know I did!”

“Jack, I saw him.” Davey insisted as they scrambled through the lobby. “I threw a brick at him, I think I’d know.”

“Are we seriously arguin’ about this?!” Spot snapped. “However many guys there were doesn’t matter! What matters is getting’ back to the car and getting the fuck outta here!”

“Spot’s right.” Davey sighed. “C’mon, that door there should open to the main road. We left the car near the pharmacy, right?”

“Right.” Jack nodded, shoving the door open. “We better hurry-“

“Heya, Francis.”

 _Shit_.

Oscar Delancey smirked at him as he advanced, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder.

“Inside.” Jack whispered, shoving Davey and Spot behind him. “Go back inside, _now!”_

“Hey now!” He chuckled, delighting in Jack’s horror. “That ain’t how ya introduce a friend, huh, Francis?”

“Francis?” Davey frowned. “Jack, who’s this? Who’s Francis?”

“It don’t matter right now!” Jack snapped. “Just go inside, wouldja?!”

“Jack?” Oscar snickered. “That’s what you picked? Seriously, cowboy? Oh, that’s _precious_. So who’s this, then?” He smirked, pointing at Davey with the rifle. Jack froze where he stood, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“Put it down.” He snarled through gritted teeth. “Put it down right fuckin’ now, Oscar, I swear to god-“

“I know this one,” Oscar said, ignoring him as he tilted the gun towards Spot. “Brooklyn, right? Yeah, I remember you. And your friends, where are they?”

Spot clenched his jaw, his fists tight at their side.

“Oh, yeah!” Oscar grinned. “I remember now. Pretty ballsy of ya, Francis, shootin’ his buddy and then getting’ him to run around with you and your li’l pet crip.”

Jack growled in his throat at that word. If Oscar didn’t have a gun pointed at his best friends, he’d probably rip his throat out. Actually, scratch the ‘probably’ part. He’d do it without hesitation.

“Did he tell ya ‘bout that?” Oscar turned his attention back to Davey, the rifle pointed squarely at his chest. “How he shot some poor kid who didn’t even know what he was doin’?”

“Yes.” Davey said firmly, his jaw squared and fists tightly clenched. “And it was clear he only did it to protect his friends.” He jutted his chin, kind of like when a cat puffed its fur to make itself seem bigger than it was. “I know more about him than you do.”

Oscar’s lips curled into a yellowed smile as he took a step towards them. The three of them fell back a step, Davey’s confidence quickly wearing thin. Jack grimaced as he realized what was happening. He swallowed heavily, breaking the information down in his head. Oscar may’ve had turkey stuffing for brains, but at least he actually _had_ brains, or enough brains to cook up a plan at the very least. Davey said he’d only seen one person – Oscar must’ve ran to their building once he’d realized they’d be trapped on the roof, which meant Morris (at least, he assumed it was Morris) was supposed to stay on their roof to keep them from running. With Oscar on one side and Morris on the other, they’d have been cornered. Except they’d gotten away, with Morris still on the roof. Jack doubted they’d planned for that, too – everyone knew the Delancey’s had a total of around four braincells between them (in fact, even that was generous) – but he couldn’t help but wonder if Morris was smart enough to realize how easy it would be to corner them.

After all, he thought to himself as Oscar took another step, backing them into the lobby of the apartment building. Oscar had clearly realized it.

“Ain’t that sweet?” Oscar chuckled, kicking the door shut behind them. Jack flinched at the _clap_ of the door slamming. It sounded like a gunshot. “What else has ol’ Francis told you, then?”

Davey glared and opened his mouth to speak – but no sound came out. He blinked slowly, his glare melting into a frown as he tried to force words, any words, out of his throat.

“He didn’t tell you that, huh?” Oscar smirked. “Nah, you know _Jack_. You don’t know Francis.”

“Shut up, Oscar!” Jack snapped. “You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout me, either!”

“Y’sure, Francis?” Oscar smiled, his eyes gleaming when he noticed Jack’s tiny flinch. “’Cause right now I know plenty o’ stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’s trapped in an apartment buildin’ with no place to go.” Oscar shrugged. “Morris, keep the basement guarded.”

Jack flinched, spinning on his heel to see Morris (he _fucking_ knew it) guarding the door to the basement. Well. There went their exit strategy.

“What’s your deal?!” Jack snapped as his hairs stood on end, his brain frantically searching for a way out of here that would, worse case scenario, only get them _slightly_ injured. He hoped Davey was doing better than he was at coming up with a plan. “We could be the last few survivors here and you want to kill all of us just to spite _me?!”_

“Aw, we ain’t gonna kill ya, Francis!” Oscar smiled, sauntering into the lobby. Jack flinched, scrambling backwards and forcing the other two behind him. “Nah, we’s gonna do a lot o’ things, but we ain’t gonna kill ya. Not yet. Morris, get ‘im.”

Davey cried out from behind them, making Jack whip around to see Morris grabbing Davey by the hair, shoving him to his knees and pointing his rifle at his temple. _Shit_. He shouldn’t have tried so hard to get away from Oscar – he’d only brought them closer to Morris. And now Davey was going to pay for Jack’s impulse move.

“Let him go!” Spot roared, aiming their shotgun squarely at Morris’ face.

“Spot, no!” Jack grabbed the barrel of the gun and yanked it down at the floor. He turned frantically to Oscar, his rifle still pointed at Spot’s back. “He won’t shoot. Promise, Oscar, he won’t shoot.”

Spot looked at him in outrage.

“What the fuck, Kelly?!”

“Do you want to get both o’ you shot?!” Jack hissed.

“Kelly?!” Oscar grinned, almost wheezing with laughter. _“Jack Kelly?!_ Seriously, Francis? That’s fucking _hilarious.”_

Jack grit his teeth and growled low in his throat as Oscar swaggered past them, his rifle still lazily pointed at Spot. He reached where Morris was holding Davey on the ground and reached down to hold Davey’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it upwards like he’d just been hanged.

“So who’s this one, then?” Oscar smiled. “We know the crip and the shorty over here, and the spazzy one – y’know, the one that sounds like a broken kazoo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Spot glared, spitting out the words like a snake.

“No, you won’t.” Oscar said gleefully. “’Cause if you try, we’ll shoot this one,” Morris jabbed the barrel of his gun into Davey’s head. “And then we’ll shoot you. Oh, but don’t worry!” He added. “We won’t kill you, Francis. Nah, we’ll let you wallow in it. Then we’s gonna take you to Uncle Wiesel. He’s _dyin’_ to see you.”

Jack’s heart turned to ice in his chest, his blood freezing solid in his veins.

“Weasel?” Davey frowned. “Who the hell is Weasel? Jack, who are these guys?!”

“Shut it!” Morris snarled. “And it’s _Wiesel_ , ya prick.”

“That’s what I said.” Davey muttered, wincing as Morris jabbed the gun harder into his head. Jack made a small, strangled noise in his throat, instinctively reaching out his hand.

“Aw, look how scared he is!” Oscar cooed. “Wow, you care ‘bout this one more ‘an I thought, Francis! What is he, ya boyfriend?”

“Let him go.” Spot snarled, grabbing Jack’s shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring manner. It did not feel reassuring.

“Maybe we should just kill him now, huh, Morris?” Oscar grinned. “Let Francis watch as we blow his brains out and paint these walls red.”

Jack whimpered softly against his will, making Oscar’s smile widen.

“Nah, that’d be too easy.” He chuckled. “Maybe we should wait a little – shoot him in the knees first, so he can’t walk. Then we can take him by the arms and put some holes in those hands o’ his – now that’d really upset ya, wouldn’t it, Francis? Pro’lly shoot him in the stomach, too, wouldn’t that be pretty? And then once he’s done screamin’ we could put the barrel in his mouth. Anythin’ to shut him up – fucker talks more than he’s worth.”

Jack froze, his breath coming out in harsh pants. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t do anything, he had to do something, run, scream, anything, they can’t take Davey they need Davey _he_ needs Davey they can’t they can’t they can’t-

“Oh my god!”

“I said shut it!” Morris snapped, yanking Davey’s hair.

“No, look!” Davey cried, pointing at Jack. “He’s got a _boner!”_

“What?!”

 _“What?!”_ Jack yelped.

“You sick son of a-!”

That was all Oscar could say before Davey snatched his gun and smacked him across the face with it.

“Hey-!”

Spot snapped into action and fired the shotgun at Morris’s leg. Morris howled in agony, collapsing to the floor as red spilled from his thigh to the carpet. Davey tossed Oscar’s gun into a corner and lunged forward, grabbing Morris’ own rifle and throwing it out of reach.

 _“Run!”_ He yelled, sprinting forward and grabbing the others by the arm as they ran into the street.

“That was your master plan?!” Jack cried as they ran as fast as their feet could take them. “Makin’ me get hard over you getting’ shot?!””

“I panicked!” Davey snapped. “And that’s not the issue right now! We have to go!”

Jack was about to retort with a _‘no fucking shit, genius’_ when he heard the apartment building door burst open behind them. He flinched, instinctively looking over his shoulder to see Oscar Delancey’s hulking figure running after them.

“Get back here, Francis!”

“Alleyway, quick!”

“Are you crazy?!” Spot snapped. “That’s how they got us the first time!”

“Would you rather be shot at in an open street?!” Davey shot back. “Alleyway!”

They ducked into another alley, taking random turns and scrabbling their way over walls (they would not be making the same mistake again, thank you). After a while, they slowed to a halt, panting beside the crumbling remains of a small redbrick building – maybe it used to be a shop, or a small house. Jack wondered how it would’ve looked before the outbreak. Maybe the bricks would be a warm cherry red, glowing like a fire in winter, instead of the rusty brown they were now, similar to the colour of dried blood. It didn’t matter. It was dead now.

“What do you think happened to Morris?” Jack asked quietly, the question lingering in the air like smoke. Spot looked down at the shotgun he was holding and swallowed heavily. Jack looked at him with sympathy – it was probably the first time he’d actually shot someone who wasn’t already dead.

“He’s still near the rifle.” Davey offered, though his voice sounded weak. “He can still fend for himself. And besides, the other one would go back for him, right?”

Spot and Jack shared a sceptical glance.

“Zombies are attracted to blood.” Spot mumbled, scuffing his feet on the concrete. “He bled a lot.”

“What does it matter?” Davey said before Spot had even finished. “He – he was a bad person. Right? He was going to kill us.”

The three of them shared a look. Davey was right – the Delancey’s were bad people. Jack knew that better than anyone. Davey knew it and he didn’t even know them as long as Jack had.

So why did Jack feel like he was about to throw up? Why did Spot look so guilty? And why did Davey, who moments ago had a _gun to his head_ , sound so weak, like he himself didn’t believe what he was saying?

“Do you hear that?” Davey frowned, breaking them out of their sullen silence.

“Hear what?” Spot asked, instinctively readying the shotgun. “The Delancey’s?”

“No.” Davey said quietly, unsheathing his knife. “It – It’s like scraping. Like something being dragged.”

Jack frowned, glancing around their abandoned alley.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Well, I do.” Davey huffed. “It won’t go away...” He mumbled, his annoyance slipping into dread. “It’s like when you get velvet or felt under your nails, but... But as a _sound_.”

Jack blinked, shooting Spot a worried glance.

“That...” Spot mumbled. “Doesn’t sound good...”

Davey’s breathing stuttered for a moment. His body went rigid as he whipped around, searching for... _Something_.

“We should go.” He said quickly, voice tight. “Now.”

“Davey?” Jack asked, taking him by the shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I just – I just think we should go.” Davey stammered. “Right now. Immediately. Godspeed.”

“Davey, what-“

 _“No!”_ Davey cried out before Jack could finish, shoving him to the ground just as a blur of rotting flesh scrambled past them.

“The fuck?!” Jack gasped, tugging himself and Davey to their feet and-

“Spot!”

-was sprawled on his back, the length of the shotgun jammed between the zombie’s neck and chin as he tried to pry it off him, yellow-nailed hands swiping at his face. He groaned painfully as he held the shotgun in his hands, his wounded arm shaking with the effort of keeping the zombie held above him.

“Hey!” Jack screamed, grabbing a large shard of glass from the rubble and rushing at the zombie. The zombie roared, twisting itself to tangle its claws in Jack’s hair, making him cry out in shock and pain. He wrangled the zombie away from Spot, forcing it onto the ground.

“Get up!” He yelled, grabbing Spot under the arms and yanking him away. “Get up, _go!”_

He grabbed the shotgun from Spot’s hands, aiming it at the zombie when a sharp whistle blew. The zombie stilled, it’s snarling face falling as it scrambled to the entrance of the alleyway.

“And here I wanted to keep it a surprise.”

Jack flinched, whipping around to see Oscar blocking their exit, a whistle in hand and the zombie hunched beside him.

“You remember Uncle Wiesel, don’tcha, Francis?”

Jack’s heart stopped. He turned his gaze to the zombie – the old, balding zombie with the rounded stomach and old suspenders with the leather beginning to flake off, his face marred with a gaping bite mark going straight through his cheek and showing the inside of his bloody mouth, the white glint of his jawbone, the muted shine of his one gold tooth-

“Weasel?” Jack whispered, his voice cracking slightly. _“That..._ Is Weasel?”

Davey stumbled beside him, his face contorted with horror and confusion.

“Jack...” He mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically small. “What is happening?”

Jack didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the mauled, grotesque face of Mr Wiesel. Even as a zombie, the resemblance was uncanny; same pot belly, shifty eyes, even the same shoddy old suit – he was shocked he hadn’t noticed sooner.

“Yeah, he looks a little different from when you saw him last, huh, Francis?” Oscar growled, his shirt stained with blood. “Got bit back in New York. We was crossin’ the Brooklyn Bridge and a whole horde came at us. Probably coulda taken them if it weren’t for _you_.”

“You are not pinnin’ _that_ on him.” Spot glared, spitting the words out like a curse. “You know _exactly_ why he left, you can’t guilt trip him for not staying and savin’ your asses when you know you wouldn’ta done the same for him.”

It was strange, hearing Spot stand up for him. If the situation were different, he’d almost be touched.

“We don’t give a shit whether he stayed or not!” Oscar snarled. “But we coulda saved ‘im. We had a clear shot an’ everythin’. Or we would’ve, if we’d had our fuckin’ _gun.”_

Jack felt his stomach drop. His blood turned to acid in his veins, burning inside him with years old pain.

“Their gun?” Davey whispered, staring incredulously at the shotgun in Jack’s hands. “This... This is their gun? This whole time, we’ve been using _their gun?!”_

“I was petty.” Jack muttered, ignoring Davey. “I-I was just tryin’ to piss ya off, I didn’t – I never meant to-“

“Don’t matter what you _meant_.” Oscar glared. “It’s still your fault. You took the gun. You’s the one who killed him.”

_Your fault, your fault, **your fault-**_

“Took a while to train him.” Oscar shrugged, glaring at the cowering zombie at his side. “Had to keep him tied up for a while. It was hard – seein’ this fuckin’ _corpse_ instead o’ my old man. Knowin’ he don’t know me anymore. Can’t say it wasn’t fun at times, though – I get why he liked givin’ us such a hard time now.” He grinned wickedly, turning his gaze to Jack. “But it was worth it.”

Jack’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place.

“You sadistic fuck!” Spot cried. “Your uncle gets turned and you – you keep him as a _pet?!”_

“We never woulda had to if it weren’t for him!” Oscar snarled, jabbing his rifle at Jack. “But you’s gonna know how it feels, Francis. I’mma show ya. I’mma show ya how it feels to have someone you care ‘bout get turned, and lose a brother, all at the same time.”

He rose the whistle to his lips. Weasel snapped his jaws hungrily at his side, his eyes fixed on Spot.

Wait. Not Spot.

Spot’s _blood_.

“Wait.” Jack whispered as he linked the pieces together. “Wait, no-!”

The whistle blew, a sharp, piercing cry shattering the silence of the alley.

Everything happened in a blur. Weasel lunged for Spot with inhuman speed, tackling him to the ground as Spot cried out in horror. Jack heard screaming – maybe it was Spot, maybe it was Davey, maybe it was himself – and ran at the tangle of boy and zombie on the floor, readying the shard of glass that was digging into his palm and swiping it at the zombies neck as he tackled it off of his brother to the ground. With the zombie taken off-guard, he was able to get the upper hand - and then immediately lose it as Weasel (a conniving bastard even in death, Jack supposed) dug his claws into Jack’s side, making him yell in pain, and flip him onto the ground. His hand twisted Jack’s wrist until he heard a sickening _crunch_ , fire blazing up his forearm as he screamed in agony, the shard of bloodstained glass falling onto the floor with a clatter. Jack’s breath turned to smoke, smog clinging to the inside of his throat as he choked and wheezed. Weasel’s ruined face twisted into a sickening grin, his rotting breath burning Jack’s skin as he opened his mouth wide and-

A gunshot echoed through the alleyway. Weasel’s body collapsed on top of Jack’s, his weight crushing him into the concrete. Jack’s breath wheezed out of him as he scrambled to his feet, shoving the corpse off of him. He panted heavily as he clutched the alley wall, turning to look at Spot who-

Was not holding the gun...

Dread settled in Jack’s stomach as he turned to the back of the alley.

Davey stood with the shotgun in his hands, staring at Weasel’s limp corpse with a mix of shock, horror and disbelief. The gun slipped out of his hands and clattered to the ground as he collapsed, his mouth squared in a silent gasp as tears slipped from his eyes.

“You shot him...” Oscar whispered in horror. He grit his teeth, aiming his rifle. “You son of a bitch, you _shot_ him-!”

He broke off with a gasp, collapsing to the floor.

“What are you waiting for?!” Crutchie yelled as he balanced on one foot, wielding his crutch like a sword. “Quit just standin’ here, let’s-!”

He paused, taking in Spot sprawled on the floor with his bloodstained shirt, Weasel’s limp corpse in the back of the alley, Jack leaning breathlessly against the wall and Davey curled in on himself, his hands yanking at his hair painfully.

“What...” He mumbled, glancing at Jack in search of answer. “What happened?”

Jack swallowed, glancing from Weasel’s crumpled body to Oscar’s unconscious form. The alley reeked with the smell of blood and rot, and was almost silent, save for Davey’s tremors and hitches in breath, and Spot’s occasional winces.

“Friendly reunion.”

oOo

“How is he?” Jack asked as Sarah exited the bedroom of the apartment they were camping in. It wasn’t the best idea, in Jack’s own opinion – the apartment could’ve been infested, they could get cornered by zombies, they could get attacked in their sleep, etcetera – but Sarah, Crutchie and Race had been insistent that after all that had happened, they needed a place to rest. Especially Davey.

“How do you think?” Sarah sighed, flopping onto the moth-eaten couch and sending up a small _whuff_ of dust. Jack tried not to take her tone to heart – she was going through a lot. No one knew that better than Jack.

“Is he talking?” Les asked quietly from where he was curled at Jack’s side.

“Still non-verbal.” Sarah muttered. “He hasn’t had an episode this bad since...” She pursed her lips. “A long time.”

“Going non-verbal...” Race spoke up from the small kitchenette as he tended to Spot’s wounded arm. “What, uh – Spot, stop fidgeting! – what is that, exactly?”

“It’s how it sounds, basically.” Sarah shrugged. “If he gets stressed, or his anxiety gets really high... It’s like his brain to mouth translator just shuts down. He’s still aware of what’s happening, but... It’s like he’s putting so much energy into keeping the stress at bay that he has no energy left to talk anymore.”

“Like sleep paralysis.” Race nodded, swiping an antiseptic wipe over the gash in Spot’s arm. “His mind’s working but his body won’t. Sorry.” He said quickly as Spot winced at a particularly hard swipe.

“S’no big deal.” Spot muttered through gritted teeth.

“I’ve only seen him like this once before.” Sarah sighed. “At least the other times, I knew he was still there. He wasn’t talking, but he was still _aware_ of what was happening. Now, he’s just...” She groaned quietly, tipping her head back to glare at the ceiling. “It’s like he’s in a trance or something. I don’t even think he could _hear_ me.” She exhaled through her nose, her body deflating with the single breath. “I don’t like it.”

“He really shot Weasel?” Crutchie asked. Jack winced, slapping his head and making him squawk indignantly. “What?!”

“Don’t talk about it like that.” Jack muttered, the image of Davey’s horrified face invading his thoughts. “It ain’t some gossip or whatever.”

“I never said it was.” Crutchie muttered. He sighed, glancing at the bedroom door. “You think someone should talk to him?”

“No.” Sarah said firmly. “I’ve seen these episodes. The best thing you can do is ride them out.”

“He shouldn’t be alone after this.” Jack muttered. “Not after experiencin’ somethin’ like that. He needs to talk to someone, someone who understands.”

“He _can’t_ talk to someone, Jack, that’s what going nonverbal means.” Sarah glared icily. Before Jack could fire back a retort, a quiet voice said;

“He likes it when people talk.”

The two stilled, turning to look at Les.

“What?” Les mumbled, hunching his shoulders. “He does. He had one of these episodes when he got the lead in that musical we were doing. So I just talked and talked and it calmed him down. It took his mind off it.”

Jack looked at Sarah pleadingly.

“He shouldn’t be left alone.” He insisted. “You’s his sister, you _know_ he thinks too much for his own good. He’s pro’ly thinkin’ himself into a frenzy right now.”

“And you think you can help?”

“Yes!” Jack snapped. “I know how this feels – obviously it’s not the same for everyone but I can still help him if you let me.”

“Oh, and I _wouldn’t_ -“ Sarah paused, catching herself as she glanced around the room. Ah, that was right. The other’s weren’t supposed to know about Sarah’s... Incident. Well, it was hardly as if Jack knew what really happened, either – all he knew was that it did happen.

Sarah sighed, raking a hand through her dirty hair. All the boys’ hair had grown dirty and greasy over their weeks of travel, with the only options for showering being the occasional wash in a sink, but with Sarah’s hair being longer, it was a lot more noticeable.

“Fine.” She muttered, taking him by the wrist. “Come with me.”

She tugged him to the room Davey had been staying in and paused outside the door.

“I’m just going to warn you.” She said quietly, not meeting Jack’s eyes. “Seeing Davey when he’s like this... It’s not pretty. It can actually be pretty jarring.”

“You ain’t makin’ me chicken outta this.” Jack said firmly. “He’s my friend.”

Sarah blinked at him with wide eyes.

“Wow.” She mumbled. “I, uh – I wasn’t trying to make you chicken out. Just so you know. I just – I want you to be prepared.”

“I am.”

Sarah nodded, knocking lightly on the door before entering. Jack kind of wanted to be offended on Davey’s behalf – he knew how much Davey valued privacy and mutual respect, so entering without Davey’s permission felt _wrong_ – but at the same time, they both knew Davey hadn’t said a word all night. He’d hardly start by giving them permission to enter a bedroom that wasn’t even his.

“Hey, Dave.” Sarah said softly as they entered the room. “How’re you doing, bud?”

Jack frowned when he didn’t see Davey on the bed. He followed Sarah’s gaze to the corner of the room and _oh..._

To say Davey looked like hell would be a vast understatement. Everyone in the group was already pretty bad, appearance wise; each and every one of them was coated in a layer of permanent grime, complete with sallow cheeks, dirty hair and, in Race, Spot, Jack and Davey’s cases, a fair lining of patchy scruff (not Crutchie, though; he was weirdly hairless). Davey looked worse. His face was ruddied and streaked with tear tracks, and his hair was ruffled and tangled, probably from how he’d been grabbing at his hair so often (another one of his nervous ticks that Jack had picked up on). But it wasn’t just his appearance – Davey normally looked so tall and proud, but looking at him, curled up in the corner like that, his legs tucked to his chest with his head resting on his knees as his arms encircled himself... He looked so _small._ And Jack didn’t like it at all.

Sarah’s smile twitched at Davey’s lack of response.

“Feeling any better?” She asked, crouching down on the floor in front of him. Davey still didn’t respond; just stared with empty eyes. “Jack’s here to see you. You wanna say hi?”

It felt like Davey was staring straight through them.

“Hey, Dave.” Jack said gently as he took a seat next to Sarah. For a split second, he could’ve sworn Davey’s eyes flicked to his. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. “Just... Wanted to make sure you’s okay. You mind if I stay?”

Davey’s eyebrows creased. He opened his mouth, if only a little, a small, choked noise spilling from his throat. His frown deepened in frustration. After a few more tiny noises, he resigned and nodded instead (well – it was more like a small jerk of the head, but it still counted).

“Wow.” Sarah mumbled in surprise at Davey’s responsiveness. “That – That was really good, Dave. I’m, um...” She cast a glance at Jack. “I’m gonna let you guys talk-“ Davey’s brow furrowed at her choice of words. “-and, um...” She leaned forward slightly. “If you want to talk about... _That_... Then you can.”

She placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder and shot him a pleading look – a silent _please don’t make this worse for him_. Jack smiled as best he could, reaching up the squeeze her hand. Sarah nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Hey, man!” Jack smiled, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “How’s the, uh... Word... Making?”

Davey rose an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that was stupid.” Jack sighed. “Well... I’m glad you’s responding, at least. Sarah was gettin’ pretty worried. Uh – don’t tell her I told ya that.”

Jack paused, praying for a laugh, or at the very least, a smile. Instead, Davey frowned, glancing downwards in an almost guilty manner. Jack sighed.

“Tell me how I can fix this.” He said quietly. “I – I hate seein’ ya like this, Dave. How can I make this better?”

Davey blinked, something raw and painful flickering in his eyes. He pursed his lips, leaning forward to tap Jack’s mouth.

“Um.” Jack mumbled, going almost cross-eyed to peer at Davey’s finger. “What?”

Davey huffed, leaning back to gesture at his own mouth. Jack tilted his head in confusion. Davey glared, opening and closing his hands aggressively.

“Oh! Oh, you want me to talk!”

Davey nodded.

“Okay...” Jack frowned. “What should I say?”

Davey shrugged, tucking his chin back on his knees.

“Okay, then.” Jack nodded slowly. “Um... You ever seen Drillbit Taylor?”

Davey cocked his head.

“Oh, _dude.”_ Jack said seriously, leaning forward on his knees. “You have not _lived!_ Okay, so – we start with these two freshman, Wade and Ryan – Wade’s like this tall, skeletor nerd dude, super geeky with a funny voice, kinda like you actually-“

Davey shot him a withering glare.

“... So anyways-“

Jack went on, describing the entire plot of the film, plus a running commentary. He did his best to make it as funny as he could, but Davey barely responded. It was pretty clear that Davey’s previous burst of responsiveness was probably the best they were going to get from him. Still, Jack went on. Davey said this would help, and Jack was willing to do anything if it would help him.

“Francis.”

Jack paused in the middle of his rambling about how Figgins was the best cinematic villain ever.

“Um...” He mumbled, his heart beating fast in his chest. “What?”

Davey swallowed heavily, his mouth opening and closing as he did his best to force the words out of his throat.

“Th-They said...” He croaked. “Francis. You’re... Francis?”

Jack sighed, dread pooling in his stomach.

“Yeah.” He muttered. “That’s, um. That’s me.”

Jack didn’t even know what words could describe the sheer betrayal on Davey’s face.

“I...” Davey whispered. “I d-don’t... _Know_... You.”

Jack felt his blood run cold in his veins.

He wanted to say no. He wanted to cry and scream and grab Davey by the shoulders and force him to understand that of course Davey knew him, the real him, not the him Oscar and Morris knew because he was different, he’d changed, _please don’t go-_

But at the same time, he saw Davey’s point. What did they even know about each other? Jack knew plenty about Davey; he was a book nerd, he was smart as hell yet somehow only got average grades at school (Sarah blamed the school’s lack of support for Davey’s mental difficulties, Davey blamed his terrible sleep schedule), his favourite book was animal farm, he was a theatre kid, he caught on insanely quick (hell, he guessed how to use a shotgun after watching Jack use it), he was a quick thinker, he was stubborn, he was brave (even though he’d never admit it), he loved his family, he was Jewish, he was _Davey_. Meanwhile, what did he know about Jack? Jack had never even told him his real name.

“Okay.” Jack sighed. “You want the truth?”

Davey nodded, looking at him pleadingly. Jack held out his hand, looking firmly at the floor.

“Francis Sullivan. Pleased to meet ya.”

Davey furrowed his brow, staring at Jack’s open hand.

“Sul...” He mumbled, his frown deepening as he tried his best to form the words. “Sull-uh...“

“Sullivan.” Jack snorted bitterly. “Yeah. Not as catchy as ‘Kelly’, huh?”

Davey blinked, staring down at the floor.

“Sullivan.” He echoed, his voice quiet and numb. He met Jack’s gaze, but Jack wished he hadn’t – the raw emotion and betrayal in his eyes was almost too much to handle. “Sullivan? W-Why...?”

“Why’d I change it?” Jack finished. “It’s... A long story.”

Davey shot him a flat look and gestured to his unopen mouth. Jack fought a sigh – even when he couldn’t talk, Davey was still a sarcastic little shit.

“What do you want me to say?” He huffed. “I was a foster kid. You know that whole foster kid stereotype? Where we’re all pathetic little balls of trauma and tragic backstory so we just go through our lives hating everyone for no reason? That’s me, Dave.”

Davey didn’t respond. Obviously. He just stared, his gaze boring into Jack’s own. Jack hated it. It _hurt_ , the way Davey was looking at him.

“I didn’t want to do it.” Jack mumbled. “I didn’t want to go with them.”

Davey tilted his head, looking at him with those wide eyes of his. Jack sighed.

“Yeah, that was a lie.” He muttered. “I thought those guys were awesome. I-I used to watch these old cowboy movies when I was a kid, and – and they were always doin’ that kinda stuff. Stealin’ from people, givin’ the money t’ people who needed it. Goin’ wherever they wanted. Stuff like that.” He cleared his throat. “Difference is, we weren’t too big on the whole ‘givin’ back’ part.”

“You...” Davey murmured. “Like them?”

“Yeah.” Jack sighed. “Yeah, I was like them. I was a real piece o’ shit – I’m actually kinda glad we didn’t meet before the outbreak. You wouldn’ta liked me. Sarah wouldn’ta liked me, an’ Les... Shit, I think I woulda ruined him. But you gotta know – I ain’t like that anymore. Okay? Whatever I did... I stopped doin’ it. I’m different. I have a family, a real one, people I care about. They don’t.”

“Why?” Davey asked quietly. “Why did – why would-“

He growled in his throat, reaching up to yank at his hair.

“Hey, easy!” Jack said quickly, pulling his hands back down. “You gotta ride it out, Dave. Sarah said you get like this when ya stressed, yeah? So if ya get more stressed, y’ain’t gonna be able to talk. Okay?”

Davey sighed.

“’Kay.” He muttered.

“Good.” Jack smiled as best he could. “You, uh... You wanted to know why? Why I left ‘em?”

Davey nodded, looking up at him with desperate curiosity.

“Well...”

_Screaming, gunshot, running, fighting, more running, “traitor!”-_

“Ah, y’know...” Jack mumbled, shrugging offhandedly. “Just, uh... Wasn’t feelin’ it anymore.”

Davey rose an eyebrow. Jack looked away and bit his lip, as if to force the words to stay inside.

“I-It’s a long story...” He repeated. “It ain’t somethin’ you wanna hear.”

Davey looked at him imploringly.

“It’s not pretty.” Jack sighed. “You won’t like it.”

Davey reached forward, taking Jack’s hands in his. He opened his mouth, his tongue flexing as he attempted to force the word out.

“Tuh...” He mumbled, his brow furrowing in concentration. He looked up at Jack with firm, wide eyes. _“Talk.”_

Jack wanted to look away. He wanted to get up and walk out of that room, out of that apartment, out of that building, find a car, and drive away. Because he knew how to do that. He was good at it. He was good at hotwiring cars and planning escape routes and getting out fast. He wasn’t good with words like Davey was. All he was good at was getting up and running to something new.

Davey sighed at Jack’s silence and reached up to take Jack’s face into his hands. His grip was gentle. Soft. Kinder than Jack deserved.

 _“Talk_ , Jack.”

Jack reached up and took Davey’s hands into his own. He squeezed them tight, like if he loosened his hold, Davey might slip away.

“I was in too deep.” Jack mumbled. “The Delancey’s picked me up while I was in foster care. It was like... Their _thing_. Weasel would pick up kids in the system for the grant money the state gave ya. His buddy Snyder ran the place, so as long as he was keepin’ kids outta the system, Snyder’d play blind and let him keep goin’. That’s actually where I met Crutchie for the first time.”

Davey looked up at him, aghast.

“Y-You said...” He whispered, his face curdling into an outraged glare. “You _said-!”_

“Crutchie said we met while we were in highschool.” Jack interrupted. “He never said anything about how or where.”

Davey glared at the floor, his lips pressed tightly together. Jack took that as an invitation to continue.

“At first, I thought it was cool. Runnin’ scams, screwin’ over all the rich fucks who never gave kids like me the time o’ day. It was fun. But then...”

“Outbreak.” Davey said quietly.

“Yeah.” Jack nodded solemnly. “Outbreak. You remember when the virus first started spreadin’? When all the power went out?”

“Blackout.”

“’Xactly.” Jack said. “It was basically an open invite for lootin’. We combed through the whole city lootin’ shit, takin’ whatever we wanted. But then we stopped raidin’ jewellers and pawn shops an’...” He swallowed heavily. “Started raidin’ gun shops instead.”

“Crutchie said it was a bad idea.” He continued. “He kept sayin’ we should get out. That this wasn’t right. But we’d seen all this shit on the news about the virus, an’ the Delancey’s said it was best to be prepared, an’-“ He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t let Crutchie get hurt like that. Kid was already too damn slow for the city, but throw a bunch o’ zombies into the mix? I was fuckin’ terrified for him. I-I know he’s tough – toughest kid I know, honestly – but I just... I couldn’t risk it, Davey.”

Davey sighed and gave a tiny nod. It was clear he understood.

“But then...” Jack mumbled, gnawing on his lip. “The Delancey’s... Weasel... They started sayin’ Crutchie was slowin’ us down. Said that movin’ around all the time, especially once the virus came to the city... It’d be rough on him. Said he’d be in pain, said he’d slow us down, said-“ His voice caught in his throat. “Said it’d be best to _put him outta his misery.”_

Davey stilled, his face settling into a horrified glare.

“Can you believe that?” Jack snorted. “They talked about him like he was a fuckin’ _dog._ ‘It’ll be fine, we’s puttin’ him outta his misery’. What kinda bullshit’s that?”

“Bullshit.” Davey echoed, his voice bitter and tinged with rage.

“Yeah. Bullshit.” Jack muttered. “So one mornin’, I wake up an’ Crutchie’s screamin’. They musta tried to take ‘im out while we slept, but Crutchie’s always been a light sleeper. An’ well, y’know Crutchie.” Jack smirked. “He’s reactive. Straight up floored one o’ them with his crutch. So I grabbed Crutchie, grabbed the shotgun, highjacked the nearest car and floored it. Once we ran into Race and Spot, they all kept callin' me Francis for a while an'... It just reminded me of everythin' I did. So I picked one o' the cowboys from the movies I liked an' asked 'em to call me that instead. Then they started callin' me Cowboy, which I hate, but... It's better 'an Francis."

“So you left... And Weasel... Got bit.” Davey murmured. “A-And then... I shot him.”

Jack would’ve been thrilled that Davey’s words were finally coming back, if those words hadn’t been so painfully depressing.

“Look.” Jack said firmly. “I ain’t gonna say I know exactly how you’s feelin’. Everyone goes through this stuff differently. But I do get the gist of it. So I ain’t gonna tell ya it’s gonna be fine. I ain’t gonna tell ya that you did everythin’ right and you’s a hero and all that shit because... Because you don’t feel like a hero right now, do ya?”

Davey shook his head, his nose scrunching as a sob welled in his throat.

“No.” He whispered. “I don’t. I really, really don’t.”

Jack felt his chest clench painfully at Davey’s heartbroken tone.

“Dave-“

“You’re right.” Davey muttered. “You don’t get it. No one does. And – And that’s not just me being angsty because obviously you know how it is to-“ His voice broke off in a choked gasp. “To _do that_. But... But you don’t...”

A broken cry bubbled out of his throat as tears spilled down his face.

“Davey...” Jack whispered as Davey broke down before him. “Oh, Davey, no-“

“They were a family!” Davey sobbed as Jack scooped him into his arms. “Th-That guy – Weasel – he was their uncle! And that boy, that – _Oscar ­–_ he sounded so...”

He whimpered into Jack’s shirt, hot tears burning through the fabric like acid.

“A-And I shouldn’t even feel bad!” He cried, his voice broken and raw like shattered glass. “Because they attacked us and they hunted us and you said they were gonna kill Crutchie and the zombie almost killed you, but I _do!_ Because they were a family! They were all that they had and _I’m_ the one who took it away!”

Jack screwed his eyes shut and tried desperately to swallow down the lump growing in his throat. He couldn’t cry. Not now. This was Davey’s turn. God knew he’d held it in for long enough. He needed to get it out.

“Look, Dave.” Jack whispered into the dark of the room. “I ain’t gonna push. I ain’t gonna force ya. If you tell me to stop, then I will. But I know there’s more to this than what you’s sayin’.”

Davey stiffened in his arms, his breath coming out in panicked pants.

“You don’t gotta tell me.” Jack said quickly. “Not if you don’t wanna. But Sarah – she said that if you wanted to talk about... _Somethin’,_ then you could. On the truck, that night, y-you said – you said you couldn’t tell me the whole story. But she said you could. And now I’m sayin’ you can. If you want. Whatever you wanna say... I’ll listen.”

Davey went quiet, his shaking frame clinging to Jack’s shoulders like a lifeline. Jack sighed as he brushed his hand through Davey’s greasy curls, gently combing through each tangle.

“I’m scared.”

He was so quiet, Jack barely heard him.

“I know.” He murmured back. “But I’m here for you.”

“Promise?”

Jack all but melted at how small Davey’s voice was.

“Promise.”

Davey went quiet for a moment. The only noises were their breathing, Davey’s occasional sniffles and the thrumming of their hearts pressed against each other.

“I-It was during the Blackout.” Davey mumbled, the words hanging in the air like smog. “Our dad... We kept telling him it was dangerous, but he kept going outside. He said it was for work, but we knew. He kept coming back with food and water, blankets for when it got cold. He always told us to be honest. To fight fair. A-And I know that he was fighting fair, technically. I mean, everyone else was doing it, and it was the only way to keep our family alive. And it wasn’t like he was looting actual expensive places or anything. He just wanted to keep us safe.”

Jack nodded, stroking his hand through Davey’s hair.

“He sounds like a good dad.”

“He was.” Davey’s lips twitched into a bittersweet smile. “He really was.”

He cleared his throat, tucking himself further into Jack’s chest.

“He didn’t come home one night.” Davey whispered. “We waited and waited... But he never came back. Sometimes, I don’t even think he’s dead. Sometimes, I think he saw an opening and he took it. I mean, in a world like this... You always have to look out for number one.”

Davey shook his head, causing his hair to brush against Jack’s chin.

“But he wouldn’t do that.” He continued. “I know he wouldn’t. It’s just... Something I think about. But after that, my mom got paranoid... _Really_ paranoid. She was a nurse, so she’d already be panicking whenever one of us got hurt, but... After my dad disappeared, it got worse. If we got so much as a papercut, we had to wash it immediately in case it got infected. Me and Sarah already knew how to defend ourselves, but once the virus started to reach the city, our mom wasn’t taking any chances. She taught us how to fight, how to use knives, melee combat, long range tactics, how to camouflage yourself and keep your breathing quiet... Everything.”

“Sounds cool.” Jack chuckled. “Startin’ t’ see where you get your badass-ness from.”

Davey made a noise that was trying its best to be a laugh but gave up halfway through.

“Yeah.” He sighed wistfully. “She was the best. She cared so much about other people, yknow? It was what everyone loved about her. So when she heard all the banging and wailing down the hall... She didn’t let us talk her out of it. She went straight down there to help.

“We knew something was wrong when she came back.” He whispered, his voice thick in his throat. “Or I did, at least. But I didn’t say anything, because... I don’t think I wanted it to be true. She was my mom, Jack.” His voice broke painfully as a fresh wave of tears spilled down his cheeks. “She was the _best mom_.”

Jack held him close as he stroked Davey’s hair, scratching his nails gently down his back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

“When we woke up the next morning... There was this banging at our bedroom door.” Davey continued. “We put Les on the fire escape, told him to stay there until we came to get him. And then the door opened.” He swallowed hard. “She went straight for me. Sometimes I think – I think she knew. That I knew she’d been bitten. I think she might’ve blamed me not saying anything.”

“Davey...” Jack murmured.

“I know that’s not it. Probably not, I mean. I just...” He sighed. “So she went straight for me. Sarah screamed, distracted her for a second, so we both ran into the living room... We had this old fireplace. I told you my dad went out hunting with his friends one time, it’s how he got shot. Well – he had this crossbow... He’d hang it over the fireplace.”

Jack felt his stomach plummet with dread.

“S-She went for Sarah.” He whispered, curling further in on himself. Jack bit his lip as he held Davey tighter, pressing him into his chest protectively. “So I ran in, I – I shoved her off. I don’t even know how it _happened_ , I just – she was on top of me, I-I think she was gonna bite me and then Sarah-“

Davey broke off with a harsh gasp.

“It’s okay.” Jack said quickly. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Davey sobbed quietly into Jack’s shirt.

“I didn’t even want to leave.” He cried as Jack held him close, swiping gently at Davey’s tearstained face with his sleeve. “I kept making up reasons to stay... Our dad could’ve come back, it was too dangerous to go outside, so many _stupid reasons_ , just because I was too scared to leave.”

“Dave...”

“It’s my fault.” Davey whimpered softly. “If I’d just said something... If I’d just said something, if I hadn’t been so fucking _scared_ , then we could’ve left in time. Sarah wouldn’t’ve had to – to do what she did, we wouldn’t’ve have stayed in that goddamn apartment for so long, we wouldn’t’ve had to steal from you and then none of this would’ve-!”

“Hey.” Jack said firmly. “Don’t even try. You were scared, that’s a natural thing to feel. You didn’t want to admit that this was happenin’, no one gets that more ‘an me. But you ain’t the only one who kept quiet. It ain’t your fault your mom got bit, and it ain’t your fault she didn’t say anythin’ about it.”

“I guess.” Davey sighed, wiping harshly at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “I’ve been trying so hard, Jack.” He mumbled, his voice small and weak. “This whole time, all I’ve wanted to do is protect my family. And now... I just tore one apart.”

Jack sighed, his chest aching painfully. It was times like this that made him feel more helpless than ever. A good leader was supposed to help the people he was leading. Protect them. Take away their pain. Instead, it just felt like he was making it worse.

“Look.” Jack murmured quietly. “I know there’s no fixin’ this. And I ain’t gonna expect ya to be okay, and I definitely ain’t gonna expect ya not to change. Everythin’ that’s happenin’ is changin’ us. Y’can’t fight it. Y’just gotta... Adapt to it, I guess. Ride it out and come out the other side. And I know that’s a hard thing to do, but we’s all here for you. Whatever you need.”

Davey remained silent, his body still and tense in Jack’s arms.

“I know there’s no fixin’ this.” Jack repeated. “But what I do know is... You made a choice to protect your family. I think that’s all you’s been doin’ since ya left New York, y’know – probably before that, too. You did what you had to do to keep us safe. To keep _me_ safe. You saved my life, Davey. I’m real grateful for that, y’know. And I really hope you don’t regret it.”

“I don’t.” Davey whispered, tilting his head upwards so he could look at Jack with his swollen red eyes. “I mean, it was awful – I _feel_ awful – but if I had to do it again... I would.”

Jack smiled gently, raising his hand to the back of Davey’s head so he could press him back against his chest.

“Thanks, Dave.” He murmured, reaching his other arm down to Davey’s legs so he could lift him into his arms.

Davey squeaked at the sudden movement, flailing awkwardly as his chest began rapidly rising and falling again.

“Hey, hey, easy!” Jack said quickly, making sure to keep still to keep Davey from falling. “Easy, Dave, I ain’t gonna drop ya.”

“How are you doing this?!” Davey cried as he clung to Jack’s shoulders tightly, screwing his eyes shut. “I’m taller than you!”

“Damn, really feelin’ the trust here.” Jack scoffed as he carried Davey to the bed. “C’mon. Take it easy, now. Y’been through a lot. You need a rest.”

Davey frowned as Jack lowered him onto the bed, peering up at him with that familiar spark of curiosity in his eyes, like when he was trying to figure out the twist in a book. It was barely there – just a tiny flicker – but it was something, and that was what mattered.

“We’ll stay the night here, but we’s gonna have to go in the morning.” Jack said as he closed the drapes and handed Davey the least dusty and motheaten blanket he could find. “We can stop by a tech store, though. See if we can find any noise cancellin’ headphones.”

“I’d like that.” Davey said softly as he stifled a yawn.

“Sleep, dumbass.” Jack smirked fondly. “We’ll wake ya in the mornin’, okay?”

“Wait.”

Cold, thin fingers clasped around Jack’s wrist. Jack stared at the point where their bodies made contact for a moment, half expecting Davey to yank his hand back. Instead, Davey peered up at him pleadingly.

“Stay?” He asked quietly. Jack’s heart broke at the expression on his face – equal parts scared, desperate and longing. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Nothing that had ever happened to Davey was fair.

“Sorry.” Davey mumbled, quickly letting go of Jack’s hand. “I-I just – I’m sorry-“

“Don’t be.” Jack said quickly as he sat beside him on the bed. “Sorry, I just... Zoned out for a second. But it’s okay – I’ll stay.”

Davey’s lips twitched into a small smile. It wasn’t much, just the tiniest tilt of the corners of his mouth, but it was enough to make Jack want to cry with relief.

“You feeling better?” He asked as Davey tucked himself into his side, handing Jack a corner of his blanket. Jack felt a soft warmth spread in his chest at the gesture and took the blanket, spreading it over his lap, but still leaving enough for Davey to stay warm and secure.

“Not really.” Davey sighed, winding his arms against Jack’s waist. “It’s... A lot.”

Jack nodded solemnly as he carded his hand gently through Davey’s curls.

“I get that.”

“I know.” Davey murmured, his eyes beginning to slip shut. “It’s nice. That you get it, I mean. Sarah and I haven’t even talked about what happened. She still needs time, and that’s okay. I get that. It’s just... Nice to have someone to talk about it with.”

He yawned again, his nose crinkling like a cats. Jack snorted softly.

“No more talkin’, Dave. You gotta rest.”

“’M drained.” Davey mumbled sleepily. “My head feels heavy.”

“That’s why you gotta _sleep_ , idiot.”

“I know, I know...”

Davey nosed further into Jack’s hold, his head somehow finding its way into Jack’s lap.

“Jack?”

“I said no talkin’.”

“I know, I just...” Davey shifted where he lay so that he was tucked firmly against Jack, his legs bent so his body was slightly bowed in a secure little curl. “I know I’m not feeling great right now, but... I will.”

Jack blinked, his hand stilling in Davey’s hair.

“Yeah?”

Davey looked up at him and shot him a small, bleary smile.

“Yeah.” He said gently. “Not right now – maybe not for a while, but... I will.”

“Damn right you will.” Jack chuckled. “’Cause I ain’t gonna let anythin' bad happen t’ ya again, understand?”

Davey blinked, nibbling his lower lip.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Jack said firmly. “Now go to sleep, idiot, you’s drained.”

“Okay.” Davey sighed as his eyes fell shut, the tension melting out of him as sleep took over his body. “And, um. Between you and me? I think Jack Kelly suits you a lot better than Francis Sullivan."

Jack felt a familiar lump lodge in his throat as warmth spread in his chest.

"Oh." He said quietly. "Well, um. Thanks."

Davey smiled, finally settling down for sleep.

"G’night, Jack.”

“G’night, Davey.”

Jack sat in the dank and dirty room until the last glow of sunlight disappeared behind the drapes. Slight streaks of moonlight glinted through the holes in the curtains, making Davey's face glow silver. He twirled strands of inky black hair around his forefinger, entranced at the way the locks looked almost iridescent in the light.

The door opened, jerking him out of his trance. Sarah frowned as she took a step into the room, glancing from Jack to Davey's sleeping form. She stared for a moment as she took in his dried eyes, steady breathing and untensed shoulders before looking back to Jack.

"Is he okay?" She asked quietly.

"Not right now." Jack murmured. "But he will be."

Davey stirred in his sleep, his brows furrowing as he grunted quietly.

"It's okay." Jack said quickly, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "It's okay. You's safe. I'm here. Ain't nothin' gonna hurt ya, Davey."

He stilled, his eyelids flickering before he relaxed again. Sarah looked at Jack with something close to awe in her eyes. If Jack didn't know the Jacobs any better, he'd say it looked an awful lot like respect.

"He trusts you." Sarah said quietly. "You know that, right?"

Jack looked at her quizzically.

"Of course I do." He said firmly, holding her gaze to make sure she understood. Sarah nodded slowly and gnawed on her lower lip - it seemed the Jacobs siblings all shared that particular nervous tick.

"I don't listen to anyone, you know." Sarah said, wrapping her arms around her waist like she was trying to hold herself together. "Papa always said I was stubborn as a mule. One time in elementary school, the teacher asked me to read aloud for the class, so I said my mama always taught me never to let any man tell me what to do."

Jack snorted quietly. That definitely sounded like something Sarah would do.

"But I always listen to Davey." She said as she gently stroked her brother's hair. "He's more than just my twin - he's my best friend. He's always been there for me, no matter what. So if he does something, I'll do it too. He could jump off a cliff and I'd follow him." She looked up at Jack, her blue eyes glinting like ice in the moonlight. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Jack smiled.

"I think you're pretty cool, too, Sarah."

The tension in Sarah's shoulders melted away. She gave him a winning smile before leaning down to press a kiss to Davey's forehead.

"I need to get Les to sleep." She said quietly. "He can't go to bed without a story. Can I leave Davey with you?"

Jack knew what she was really asking.

"Of course." He murmured, tracing his thumb against Davey's forehead. "I ain't lettin' any more bad shit happen to 'im. He ain't gettin' hurt as long as I'm here."

Sarah smiled gratefully.

"I'm glad." She said gently. "Goodnight, Jack."

"Night."

Jack waited until Sarah closed the door fully, the last sliver of light disappearing behind the splintering wood.

"Y'hear that, Dave?" He said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Davey's forehead. "I'm gonna keep ya safe. I ain't lettin' anyone hurt you anymore. I've got you."

Davey snuffled quietly in his sleep, and nuzzled gently into Jack's stomach.

"Jesus Christ." Jack sighed, tipping his head back against the headboard. "Forget them damn zombies. You's the one who's gonna be the death o' me, Davey Jacobs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wonder if anyone spotted the foreshadowing in the title...  
> i'm not entirely happy with this,,, i don't really like how davey's breakdown went down and i feel like the end was kind of abrupt,,, but it's been like two weeks so mleh  
> i based davey's nonverbal episode off of my own nonverbal experiences so hopefully i did it okay  
> also guess who's getting her gcse results in a week :))))) full offence but if i have to go back to my ableist asshole school that's basically 30% nazi for sixth form i am going to cry  
> i am so ready for the apocalypse


End file.
